


A New Day Dawning

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Series: A New Day Dawning [1]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Musical-Verse] Anyone who'd ever been in the same room with them knew how Crutchie felt about Jack. And after Crutchie's arrest, how Jack felt about Crutchie was equally obvious. Unfortunately for them, however, the only ones who didn't know those things... were Jack and Crutchie. Jack/Crutchie, post-musical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** A New Day Dawning  
>  **Fandom:** _Newsies_ , Musical-verse with a borrowed Movie-verse Spot  
>  **Pairing:** Jack/Crutchie... with a little detour or two ^_~  
>  **Rating:** NC-17, but only in chapter 4. The rest of the story is a pretty tame PG-13.  
>  **Word Count:** Chapter 1 - 5,325; Whole Story - ~35,000  
>  **Warnings:** Slash, angst, reference to rape, spoilers
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Neither the musical, the movie nor the boys belong to me. If they did they'd be soulfully staring into each others eyes and singing duets about running away together. *pause* *blinkblink* Huh. Look at that... they do. *eg* :D (( _Newsies, the movie, was written by Bob Tzudiker and Noni White with music by Alan Menken and was adapted for the stage by Harvey Fierstein and Alan Menken._ ))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **11/6/11:**_ I've been fighting with this thing for the better part of a month. That's not a whole lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but considering that most of the month was fighting with the last few scenes... it was plenty long enough. :-P Anyway, I've been fighting ficcing for Newsies for a damned long time and I've been obsessed with the movie since it first came out. That being said, it was Andrew Keenan-Bolger and Jeremy Jordan as Crutchie (no, that's not a misspell - they changed it for the musical ^_^) and Jack that finally broke down my resistance. They. Are. Amazing. OMG.
> 
> The one thing I will say, though, is that this musical blasted my carefully tended 'ships for this movie all to hell. I'm a Jack/Spot girl. Always have been, always will be. There's a little room for Jack/Davey... but not even much for that. So, the fact that the Jack/Crutchie thing walloped me hard enough to want to fic for it was a bit of a shock to me. And really... Spot was almost a nonexistent character in the new musical. So, to compensate for the new 'ship, I, uh... may have borrowed Spot whole and complete out of the movie-verse. O_o;;; Other than that and the occasional nod to Newsies that were in the movie but not the musical, this fic is solely based of the musical-verse and is mostly set after canon ends. So, if you haven't seen it, spoilers abound. Sorry, Denton. ;)
> 
> Yikes. Babble. I'll shut up now. O_o;;;
> 
> * * *

_"Jack! Wait for me! Jack! Help!"_

Jack came awake all at once, shaking and shivering, holding tight to the fire escape railing. It wasn't the first time. Those desperate cries had haunted his sleep for days. He lurched to his feet, started pacing angrily back and forth. _Why_ hadn't he told Crutchie to stay away from the strike line? Why hadn't he insisted the other boy stay where it was safe? Why hadn't he guessed that it could turn so wrong so quickly? Why?

If he had been the one to pay the price of his ignorance, Jack Kelly could have handled that, but the thought of anyone, much less a friend, suffering in his place... The very thought made him feel ill. Yet, at the same time, a small treacherous voice inside him whispered that if it had been David or Mush or Racetrack - or anyone _fucking_ else but Crutchie - he'd be handling this catastrophe much better. As it was, though, he was a mess.

Finally giving up sleep as useless, Jack climbed down from the rooftops and made his way to Irving Hall. It was early, still, by vaudeville standards. Medda would probably just be finishing up her last show and, while it might not be entirely welcome, hers was the only company he could even stand these days. It was better than being alone with those nightmares of Crutchie's voice screaming in his head. Actually, anything was better than attempting sleep, again.

The doorman let him in with a nod and Jack barely grunted in reply. Moving silently, he went backstage to where he'd started working on Medda's new backdrop, picked up a brush and started mindlessly painting. He didn't think he had it in him to create anything beautiful after what had happened in the yard, seemed incapable of drawing anything but those biting political cartoons that Medda was so impressed by. Still, he'd promised. And if there was one thing Jack Kelly wasn't, it was an oath breaker. You kept your fucking promises. Your honor was all you had in this world that they couldn't take away from you. That they couldn't... take...

With an angry growl, Jack threw down his paintbrush. Another of those damned useless cartoons. At least he'd done this one on the back of the canvas where it wouldn't ruin what little he'd managed on the front. Santa Fe. His paradise on Earth. He'd told no one about that... no one but Crutchie. Crutchie was safe. Crutchie wouldn't judge, wouldn't condemn. He didn't have it in him and he'd been with Jack too long. And he _hadn't_ judged, had even hinted that if Jack were to go, Crutchie would follow... or die trying. And wasn't that just the problem? Wherever Jack went, Crutchie always fucking followed and then when someone got hurt - because someone invariably did - it was always Crutchie, not Jack. _Damn_ it. Jack sat down hard on the floor, head in his hands and breathing heavy. He had to do something to fix this... but _what_?

Medda found him like that an hour later, sat down beside him and wrapped him in her arms, didn't say a word until he pulled away. Once he did, she said, "Oh, Jack... I wish I could do something to help. I truly do." At least she didn't make false promises, didn't tell comforting lies. She didn't tell him it would all be OK. She didn't tell him it wasn't his fault. She just wished she could help. And Jack wanted nothing more than to tell her that she could, but she... wait.

Jack reached out a hand, fingered the suspension harness that Medda still had strapped around her body from her last performance. She looked at him, eyes wide but accepting of that soft caress, certain he had something else in mind and ready to oblige him if that was what he needed to distract him from his pain. It wasn't. Medda was like a sister to him and he'd never take advantage of her that way. But this... he slid his finger back under the harness with a slightly crazed smile, "So, Medda... maybe there is somethin' you can do. You think this thing would take my weight?"

* * *

An hour later, Jack was lowering himself from the roof of the Refuge by a pink and lavender stage harness, cursing the fact that it looked so conspicuous against the darker colors he usually favored wearing. Still, he didn't care. He'd make himself look ten times more a fool for a chance to break Crutchie out of here. The other boy was small, far smaller than he was. Surely the harness would hold both of them. And if not, he would find some way to get them back up one at a time. Either way, Jack was _not_ leaving here without his friend.

It took him a few attempts to find the correct window, but he finally located the room Crutchie was in around the back of the building on the top floor. Good. There would be fewer people to spot what he was doing and it would be easier to get them back on the roof from there. Jack lowered himself to the window and peered into the room, tried to make out Crutchie's shape among the few he could see in the dim light of the single candle. Unable to spot him, Jack finally resorted to tapping on the window.

One of the smaller crouched forms straightened and turned toward him. For a moment, blind hope tricked Jack into thinking it was Crutchie, but it became obvious in a single step that it wasn't. As the figure approached and Jack got a closer view, he relaxed. This might not be Crutchie, but it was someone he knew, at least. The baby-faced Newsie smiled at him from behind the bars as he opened the window and tossed him a wink, said, "Heya, Jack."

Jack smiled, reached out to take the younger boy's hand, "Heya, Ten Pin."

Before Jack had a chance to say another word, the boy's smile slipped and he asked hesitantly, "You, uh... you here for Crutchie?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here for Crutchie. That a problem, kid?" Jack said.

Ten Pin shrugged, "Not for me, it ain't, Jack. We all want him outta here as much as you do, but... eh. Hang on a minute. Lemme go talk to him."

As the other boy walked away, Jack clung to the bars on the window, tried to see where he was going, tried to at least get a glimpse of his friend to see if he was all right. He had to be all right. If Ten Pin was going to talk to him, he _had_ to be all right. He had to be. So what did the other boy's hesitation mean? Fuck. Jack banged his head softly against the bars. What could possibly be wrong, now?

* * *

The soft hand that landed on his shoulder felt like a branding iron. He knew it wasn't, knew that a human hand couldn't possibly be that hot, but he'd been so cold lately that it was still an apt comparison. Crutchie winced away from it, tried to burrow deeper under the single, threadbare blanket he'd been given when he got here. The hand came again, this time accompanied by a voice, "Crutchie. Up and at 'em. You got a visitor."

Ten Pin. Crutchie didn't know the other boy well, but he knew him well enough to know that for all his youth, he was a hard character. He was far too at home here in the Refuge, was probably heading straight for a life of real crime when he grew into his attitude. Still, he'd been kind to Crutchie since he got here. Ten Pin was the one who'd gotten the blanket for him, made sure he kept it. Still, even the dangling idea of Ten Pin's continued protection, even the promise of a visitor, wasn't getting Crutchie out of this bed. He shook his head, pulled the blanket higher.

Ten Pin sighed, pulled the blanket back down and leaned in close to whisper, "It's Jack, you numbskull. He's come to get you outta here. We should all be so lucky. Now, come on. Rise and shine."

The smaller boy grabbed Crutchie's arm then, pulled him into a sitting position and Crutchie couldn't help it, he let out a small cry of pain. Ten Pin swore and dropped him back to the bed, "Christ, Crutchie! What the hell is the matter with you?"

Crutchie would have answered, should have answered, wanted to answer, but he was too busy curling around the sudden burning pain in his hip and crippled leg. It had been like this for days, ever since Snyder had dumped him in here. The cops... well. They hadn't exactly been gentle during his arrest and the Delanceys had been even less so just before it. And now he was one solid muscle cramp from the middle of his back all the way down to his foot. Moving any part of himself, even slowly... it hurt. G-d, it hurt so badly. Another whimper escaped his throat and he cut it off viciously. He wasn't helpless, wasn't just a crip. He was a Newsie. He was _Jack's_ Newsie, and he was better than this. So, instead of wasting his breath on answering, Crutchie just dug his thumbs into the ball of iron currently masquerading as his right thigh, resolutely ignored the pain that produced as he tried to loosen this newest cramp. Jack's friend, Medda, had done this for him before and it had helped... but it was harder to do it for yourself. Crutchie'd been trying for days with just as little success. Still, he had to do something. He couldn't just give up.

Understanding that he wasn't going to get a useful answer out of the older boy, Ten Pin left his side. Crutchie just kept working at his thigh, _That's right. Go tell Jack. Tell him I can't get outta bed. Tell him how useless I am. Then he'll leave me here, go on his merry way... leave me to be a burden on someone else. He should. I deserve it._

Moments later, another warm hand joined Crutchie's on his thigh and he'd been so wrapped up in his own bitter thoughts that he almost jumped off the bed in surprise at that touch. A second hand gently pried Crutchie's own hands loose from his leg, pushed them up and out of the way as the first hand took their place. Crutchie turned to look as both of those larger hands wrapped around his thigh, started slowly rubbing, applying the gentlest of pressures as they rubbed. That felt better, more like when Medda did it. Crutchie followed the line of those arms up to strong shoulders and a face he knew well. He let out a small moan, then, and turned his face into the pillow as it started to burn with shame. Still, he couldn't help but whisper the name in acknowledgement, "Jack..."

The other boy nodded, continued to work on Crutchie's leg. The silence was almost more than Crutchie could bear. Jack was upset. That much was obvious. He was upset and he was angry. And why wouldn't he be? Crutchie had let him down, had gotten caught and now that Jack was going through the trouble to arrange this rescue, Crutchie couldn't even get that right. The blood slowly drained from Crutchie's face as an even worse thought took hold: He was going to get _Jack_ caught and that was unforgivable.

Even though the cramp in his leg was finally starting to relax a little, Crutchie forced himself to push Jack's hands away. Jack just turned to him, one eyebrow raised, "What...? Crutchie... what's wrong?"

Crutchie just shook his head, disbelieving. He dredged a smile up from somewhere and pasted it firmly onto his face, "Jack, you gotta get out of here. You're gonna get yourself arrested. That what you want, Jack?" When Jack looked like he might protest, Crutchie reached a hand up and punched him in the arm, "Jack! I'm fine. I just... I just don't think I can go with you, OK? I'll be fine here. Honest. You got things to do - important things. I'll just get in the way like this."

Jack stared down at him for a few minutes, face unreadable. Crutchie watched him, heart beating hard in his throat, waiting for the condemning words. Jack turned away from him, met Ten Pin's eyes. Ten Pin nodded and started shooing the other boys away from Crutchie's bed. Oh G-d... Jack didn't want an audience for whatever it was he was going to say. Was it going to be that bad?

Once they were alone, Jack picked up Crutchie's bad leg and placed it in his lap. Silently, he went back to work on the hard knots currently keeping that leg in a permanent cramp. When he felt Crutchie begin to relax, Jack also relaxed, said quietly, "What's the matter wit' you, Crutchie? This ain't like you. You may have a bum leg, but you ain't a _crip_. So what the hell all of a sudden?"

Crutchie winced, turned his face away. Jack was right. He wasn't like a lot of the other cripples on the street. He was good at what he did because he was good at it. He pushed at least 400 papes a week, more sometimes, all on his own. He had regular customers, real upper crusters, who only bought from him. They trusted him, liked him, talked to him when they bought their papers, sometimes gave him a little extra to buy a treat with near the holidays. Crutchie loved it, loved having that genuine connection with people, just loved people, in general. Most of them didn't even notice he was a crip. And that was the point. He was a good Newsie because he was a good Newsie - one of the best besides Jack - but the other Newsies didn't know, didn't notice, didn't care. They thought he sold so many papes because he was a crip, because he inspired pity.

Crutchie hated it. He hated that pity, had no use for it, went out of his way to keep a smile on his face and a positive attitude in his heart just to keep it at bay. But this week... these last few days... today... even he had to admit he was deserving of pity. Pity... and nothing more.

Jack had kept his silence, waiting for Crutchie to put the words together, sensing that he needed the time. He turned now, lifted an eyebrow in query. Crutchie sighed, slowly pushed himself up to a half sitting position, most of his weight resting on his arms. Thanks to Jack's ministrations, he could do that much without his leg screaming. Jack paused, gave Crutchie his full attention. Crutchie pulled his leg out of Jack's hands, swung the other one around so that he could sit on the side of the bed, winced when the new position pulled at the bruises on his back and stomach. He hunched over, one hand braced on his bad leg and said quietly, "Jack... most days, you're right. I ain't a crip. I'm just a Newsie. But today..." His breath caught, but he continued, "Today, Jack? Today, I'm a crip."

In the silence that followed that statement, Jack asked, "Crutchie... what happened?"

Crutchie smiled, started reflexively rubbing at his leg as it started to cramp again, "Oscar and Morris... they..." He shrugged. He didn't need to say it. Jack would understand. Oscar and Morris Delancey had it in for all the Newsies, but they had it in for Jack, in particular. And anyone who knew Jack knew that if you hurt one of his friends it was as good as hurting him - better, even. And Jack was nigh untouchable. The Delanceys had tried. But Crutchie... Jesus, having Crutchie at their mercy with no Jack nearby to help? How they'd gloated... Crutchie shuddered, pushed the memory away. He didn't want to think about it. It had happened. It was done. Crutchie was ready to move on, move past it, but his dratted leg didn't seem to be getting the message. But just because he was trying to move on didn't mean he was fool enough to put himself in Oscar and Morris' faces again so soon, not when he couldn't fight back or get away. He refused to be that albatross around his friend's neck. The Refuge might not be a picnic, but even Jack had to admit that it was one of the safest places in the city for a boy who couldn't fend for himself - especially when all the other boys in the Refuge knew that that boy was a close friend of Jack Kelley. They would take care of Crutchie just on the off chance that it might earn them Jack's favor. More pity. And Crutchie hated it, well-intentioned though it might be... but that didn't mean he wouldn't use it. For now. So he looked up at Jack, smiled brightly and said, "It's OK, Jack. It's really OK. You... do what you need to do. I'll be safe here. You don't gotta worry about me."

Jack looked like he wanted to say more but after opening and closing his mouth once or twice without saying a word, he pushed himself off the bed, hands clenched, turned away, and kept his silence. Crutchie couldn't stand it, couldn't stand for their meeting to end like this. He reached for his crutch, tried to push himself to his feet, but his bad leg wouldn't support his weight, immediately cramped up again in protest when he tried. He landed hard on the bed, drew in a sharp breath as quietly as he could in the hopes that Jack wouldn't notice. Vain hope.

Jack smiled softly down at him, shook his head. Crutchie could hear the "Idiot..." as clearly as if Jack had actually uttered it. Jack sat back down, pulled Crutchie's leg back into his lap and went back to work. As his friend's touch started to tease the pain back out of his leg, Crutchie let himself droop over, let himself rest for a minute on Jack's shoulder. Jack reached a hand up to briefly ruffle his hair, then went back to work. And as Crutchie sat there, curled against Jack's side as his friend patiently worked the cramps out of his leg again, he started to smile. Jack noticed, eventually, snorted and said, "What?"

Crutchie let out a soft laugh as he reached out and tugged gently at one of the pink, beribboned straps crisscrossing Jack's chest. Jack blushed but said nothing. Crutchie smiled wider, snapped the strap and said, "Something you want to tell me, Jack? Medda finally dragging you into vaudeville?"

Jack blushed harder, ducked his head and muttered, "Well how the hell else was I supposed to get down here from the roof?"

Crutchie laughed, dropped his head back down onto Jack's shoulder. Secretly, he loved his friend like this, all the bluster and bravado stripped away, just doing whatever he could to help a friend no matter how embarrassing it was. It made him seem softer, more like who he truly was than like the brash, tough Newsie who ran Manhattan. He loved it even more because Crutchie knew that he was the only one permitted to see this side of Jack Kelley. It made him feel special, needed. Crutchie yawned, snuggled a little closer. This was nice. Nice... He barely noticed when Jack gently pushed him down onto the bed and covered him with that tattered, old blanket. But it would have taken the divine touch of Morpheus himself for Crutchie to miss the soft kiss his friend dropped onto his forehead before he left. It warmed him long into the night and for many days to come.

* * *

They'd won. They'd _won_. Jack stood on the headline platform with Joe Pulitzer and Teddy Roosevelt and just drank it all in. He couldn't believe it. He was standing next to two of the most important men in New York... and the Newsies had really won. Jack had struck a bargain with Joe that even _he_ couldn't argue with and he'd done more than that. Much more. It felt good. It felt beyond good. And it gave him closure. He'd done what he needed to do here. He was free to go, to be his own man, somewhere where his past wouldn't brand him like it did here. G-d, how he wanted that...

In the midst of his musing, in the midst of his awe, a loud whistle cut through the air. And there was only one thing that that whistle could mean: the bulls. No! Not after all their hard work! It wasn't _fair_! Jack should have known he couldn't trust those hob-knobbing, hoity-toity upper crusters. He moved to leap over the railing and slide down the ladder but a familiar laugh stopped him short before he could. Jack froze with his hands clutching the railing. That laugh... it couldn't be...

When Jack looked down from the platform, a twinkling pair of hazel eyes met his from under a fall of light brown hair. Crutchie. Jack was so relieved then that he ended up clutching the railing just to keep his balance. There were other boys milling around Crutchie, Newsies Jack recognized from the Refuge, friends long gone, but none of them mattered. He watched from above, heart filled with pride as Crutchie snapped handcuffs on Warden Snyder and gave him a firm shove in the direction of the police wagon. _That_ was the Crutchie Jack remembered. Not the Crutchie from the Refuge who had reminded him so forcefully of that broken-backed, defeated old horse he'd seen from the rooftop that night he'd told Crutchie about Santa Fe.

With a wild whoop, Jack swung himself over the railing and slid down the ladder, raced over to his friend. He took just one moment to look down into Crutchie's smiling eyes before grabbing him into a hug so tight that it lifted the smaller boy off his feet. Taking advantage of the moment, Jack swung them around in a wild dance of abandon, happy beyond words to have his friend back.

The Governor was the one who broke the moment by offering Jack a ride - inside the carriage this time - to anywhere he'd want to go. Yes. Yes, that was the last piece. Jack lowered Crutchie back to the ground, made sure the other boy had his feet under him before letting go. He gave his friend a reassuring smile before turning back to the Governor, "How about dropping me at the train yards?"

The crowd went silent around him, confused. Of course... they'd all expected that he'd be staying, didn't they? Crutchie was the only one who knew about Santa Fe. A small hand clutched at his sleeve and Jack reached out to absently pat it but he kept his eyes locked on Governor Roosevelt's. The older man slowly nodded, said, "If that's where you truly wish to go, then, of course."

Jack nodded, then turned to look at Crutchie, eyebrow lifted. If they were both riding, then the other boy couldn't complain of charity, of pity, could he? He... Jack froze, caught by the look of shocked betrayal that was resting on Crutchie's face before his friend wiped it away. Wait... wait, that wasn't right...

Crutchie backed away from him, a bright smile on his face that didn't match the look in his eyes. He sheepishly ducked his head, offered Jack a small wave and said quietly, "I'll be out to ride that palomino someday. You just wait."

Wait... wait... that wasn't... wait... Jack reached out a hand to his friend but Crutchie had already backed away and been swallowed by the crowd. Damn it! Jack tried to follow, tried to get his attention, but he was surrounded by well-wishers and he couldn't see where the other boy had gone. As the crowd started pushing him towards the carriage out front, all good intentions, Jack again heard that echo in his head...

 _"Jack! Wait for me! Jack! Help!"_

* * *

Crutchie sat down hard on the loading dock, felt like the wind had been knocked out of him for good. He'd thought... somehow he'd thought... no. No, it didn't matter what he'd thought. Crutchie or Santa Fe? Crutchie knew Jack, he should have known which the other boy would pick, but somehow it had still come as a surprise. And now... he would have followed Jack anywhere. He would have. But Jack was going someplace where Crutchie _couldn't_ follow. New York was all he knew. Being a Newsie was all he knew. Jack was strong. He could start over in a place like Santa Fe, build a new life for himself, ruggedly wrest it from the land from the back of a horse. Crutchie... Crutchie couldn't do that. Here in New York, among his regular customers, at his regular selling spot, supported by his friends, Crutchie could maintain the illusion that he was somehow more than any other crip on the street. In Santa Fe? In spite of Jack's rosy view of the place, in Santa Fe that was _all_ he would be - Jack's crippled friend from New York. What good could he possibly be there? None. So, Crutchie couldn't follow Jack to Santa Fe, no matter how much he might want to. He wouldn't be that albatross, not ever again.

A gentle hand gripped his shoulder and Crutchie looked up to find Spot Conlon staring down at him, blue eyes soft and understanding. Crutchie looked away first. Spot laughed, settled in next to him, stretched his legs out, "Well, that sure wasn't expected, was it?"

Crutchie shook his head and said, "I hoped he might stay, but he always planned to go. I should have known he would. Jack keeps his word."

Spot leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees, "Yeah. Jack keeps his word, keeps his promises. But didn't he make promises to the rest of us, too? To see this thing through? What kind of leader bolts at the first sign that things are improving? He should be stayin' here, makin' sure this thing is real before he takes off."

Crutchie tensed, bristled up in immediate defense of his friend, "And who looks out for Jack, huh? Who looks out to make sure _he's_ happy? No one. Ain't no one been looking out for him ever since we met. So who can blame him for looking out for himself?"

Spot just smirked, slowly rose from the dock. When he looked back and met Crutchie's eyes, the smirk widened, "Who looks after Jack? Crutchie... all this time I thought that was _your_ job."

Crutchie stared up at the Brooklyn Newsie, mouth parted on words that he suddenly couldn't force past his lips. Crutchie look after Jack? The very idea was preposterous. Crutchie couldn't even look after himself, much less anyone else! And someone like Jack didn't need someone like Crutchie to look after him.

Spot laughed, crouched down by Crutchie and patted his knee, "What? Didn't you know?"

Crutchie shook his head, clutched his crutch to him a little tighter. He finally got out, "You're crazy." When Spot laughed again, Crutchie said, "No, really. You're completely... batshit... _crazy_. I don't look after Jack. He looks after _me_." That's right. Jack looked after Crutchie. Jack had _always_ looked after Crutchie. And now Jack was leaving. Crutchie shut his mouth before he had a chance to babble any of that to Spot. Spot didn't like to be reminded of how Jack had looked after and protected Crutchie when they'd been younger, because he'd looked after and protected Spot, too. And Spot did _not_ like to be reminded of the fact that he'd once needed that protection, because he sure as hell didn't need it, now.

Blissfully ignorant of the thoughts in Crutchie's head, Spot just smiled and ruffled the other boy's cap as he stood back up. He said, "Thought you didn't _need_ anyone to look after you, Crutchie. All this time, you've seemed to do just fine on your own." He waved a hand over Crutchie's protests, "How 'bout we just call it this way - you look out for each other. Like friends do. That sound about right?" When Crutchie tentatively nodded, Spot smiled again, "Good. Then as a friend... what the hell are you doin' sittin' on your ass over here? Shouldn't you be knockin' some sense into that stubborn block of his?"

A commotion on the other side of the crowd prevented Crutchie from answering. He stood to try to see what it was but he was too short to get a decent view. Spot climbed up onto the loading dock and the smile that overtook his face at what he saw was knowing and proud, if a little melancholy. He muttered under his breath, "Atta boy, Jack. I knew you weren't no coward." Spot turned to look back at Crutchie, an unreadable expression on his face, "Looks like you get a second chance on this one." Spot's expression softened and something indefinably sad filled the depths of his eyes, "Don't fuck it up. You won't get a third."

Sadly, Spot didn't need to explain more than that. On the surface, the leaders of Brooklyn's and Manhattan's Newsies were the best of friends, respectful of each other's power and drawn to each other like the Earth and the sun. But that was only half the story... and it wasn't even the relevant half. Crutchie knew better. He'd been there. He'd been there when Spot screwed up his own second chance. Spot and Jack were both still more than sore over it, but neither could keep from prodding at the wound. That fight had destroyed what little remained of Crutchie's childhood, had forced him to choose between the two best friends he'd ever had. He was only glad that the strike had at least gotten them talking, again. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Crutchie started pushing his way back through the crowd and when they saw who was coming, the Newsies parted ways to let him through. He pushed his way through to the front of the crowd and got ready to thank Jack for coming to his sense... only to be stopped in his efforts before he even started them. Katherine Plumb- Pulitzer. Jesus - Katherine _Pulitzer_ was the one whose words had kept Jack from leaving. Eloquent and graceful and beautiful and smart and perfect... and she'd done what Crutchie hadn't had the courage to do. And now she was smiling up at Jack and he was smiling down at her... and that encounter ended as any good romantic encounter should - with Jack dipping Katherine into a prolonged, romantic kiss. But as the other boys erupted in cheers, Crutchie... couldn't. He couldn't help the feeling that that reunion should have been his, not Katherine's, that like Spot had said, _he_ should have been the one to convince Jack to stay. But that was even more ridiculous than Spot's lunacy earlier. Crutchie should just be happy. It didn't matter _why_ Jack stayed only _that_ he'd stayed. Crutchie would tell himself that until he believed it. And so, when Jack finally raised happy, dark eyes to meet his, Crutchie had a beaming smile all set in place and waiting for him. Jack smiled back, small and relieved. Good. That was how it should be. Jack was home and Jack was happy and Crutchie hadn't lost him for good.

...so why did it feel like he had?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> I feel there should be some chibi-silliness after this chapter, but it's really late (even later than it should be thanks to Daylight Savings Time :-P) and I have to be up in four hours. Ugh. Perhaps tomorrow I will indulge. Crutchie, at the very least, has a hell of a lot of pent-up stuff to say to me and I'd like to give him the chance. ^_~
> 
>  _Questions, comments, zucchini bread?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _11/6/11:_** Shorter chapter, easy to edit. Eh, let's face it, zoicite's the only one who's gonna read this anyway. ;)

"Extry! Extry! Read all about it! Brand New Spectacle to Be Open to the Public in the Bronx! Exotic Animals Right Before Your Very Eyes! Extry! Extry!"

Crutchie smiled as the two Windham boys immediately came running over, eyes wide and excited, pennies held out for their papers. Crutchie took the pennies, handed over the papers and whispered, "Page ten, boys. Good luck." The boys beamed wide smiles at him and ran off to the other side of the square to tear open the papers.

Moments later, a stately lady carrying a lavender parasol ambled over and handed Crutchie her own penny. As she took the paper from him she shook her head, "The ideas you plant in their heads, Brian... What am I going to tell their father when they come home babbling about bears and elephants and lions?"

Crutchie just smiled and tipped his hat, "Mrs. Windham, I'm sure I don't know. But Mr. Windham enjoys a spectacle, hisself, and this new zoo is supposed to be really somethin' to see. Maybe he and the boys could go together?" When she lifted a hand to cover her answering smile, Crutchie just winked, "Page ten, Mrs. Windham. In case they got questions... any of your boys." At that, Mrs. Windham folded up her paper and followed the children to the other side of the square.

Crutchie smiled. It was good to be back on his corner doing what he did best. He'd missed this more than he'd thought possible when he'd been locked up. More than a few of his regular customers had approached him already today to tell him that he'd been missed. Another Newsie had taken up his spot while he'd been gone, so they hadn't been without their daily pape, but there was something special about Crutchie, they all said. He was unique. Why? Because he cared. Because he knew them. Because he cared _to_ know them.

Take the Windham boys for example. Eight and ten, they were crazy for anything to do with animals, always stopping the policemen to pet their horses, always chasing after the alley cats and the stray dogs. The minute Crutchie had seen the article on the new zoo they were opening in the Bronx, he knew they would be interested... and so would Mr. Windham. That was three papers sold, right there. And more importantly, it was a father he'd given an excuse to spend time with his children. Not bad for an afternoon's work.

A gentle touch on Crutchie's left elbow caught his attention next. Ah. Little Tara Worthington. He offered her a small smile and pulled out a pre-folded paper. Right on the top of the visible page were ads for different toys. She gave him a big smile that revealed the gaps from recently fallen out teeth that she normally kept hidden, then handed over her penny and skipped away with her paper. The children usually were the first to approach. Then again, it was early, still.

By mid-afternoon, Crutchie had sold all but ten of his papers and hadn't had to move much from his chosen spot to do it. That was the advantage to knowing your customers. And it was fortunate, too. His leg still wasn't up to too much activity and he'd strained it some hiking uptown from the distribution center. Still. It was his first official day back on the job and he wasn't going to spend it anywhere else but here. It just wouldn't be right. Besides, he loved this park -- Washington Square Park, it was called. It was gorgeous here, the people were nice and he wasn't likely to run into anyone else he knew way up here. He liked that, liked the freedom it gave him... even if it did take him an hour to get up here. Today it had taken him almost twice that. Still, it was worth it.

As afternoon waxed on towards evening the crowd shifted. Mothers and nannies took the children home for dinner and nighttime activities and the men folk started boiling out of their places of business, cutting through the park to get home or just to enjoy the greenery for a moment after being trapped indoors all day. Several stopped to buy papers from Crutchie, some with a smile or a nod, a rare one with a pat of encouragement and a, "Good to see you back, lad." Crutchie drank it all in with a smile. This was where he belonged. Here. In New York. A Newsie. That was who he was, who he was supposed to be.

Crutchie was so occupied by his thoughts, however, that he almost missed Dr. Calloway as the man walked past. He grabbed his crutch and leapt to his feet, newspaper in hand... and nearly fell flat on his face after taking three steps. _Damned leg must have stiffened up after sittin' all day,_ he thought with a curse. He caught himself before anything untoward could happen, but let out an undignified yipe in the process. Face burning with shame, Crutchie called out after the doctor in an attempt to cover the slip.

Dr. Calloway turned, eyebrow raised, "Yes, Brian? I'm in something of a hurry, today."

Almost helplessly, Crutchie held out the paper, afraid to take the additional steps required to cross the square to where Dr. Calloway was standing. He said, "I just thought you'd like to know, there's more on that new drug you was talkin' about. Page sixteen. In case you was interested..."

The doctor watched Crutchie for a moment, measuring. Finally he nodded and walked the remaining distance between them to purchase his paper. Then without a word, he slipped a hand under Crutchie's arm and helped him back over to the short stone wall he'd been perched on before he got up. Crutchie tried to wave him away but the old man wasn't having any of it. Once Crutchie was seated again, Dr. Calloway asked quietly, "That leg is bothering you today, isn't it, son?"

After having finally calmed, Crutchie's blush blazed back to life at that question and he did his best to wave it off, "Just a little stiff, doc. I been off it for awhile. I'll be right as rain in a few days, so don't you worry, OK?"

Dr. Calloway stared at him for a moment, then turned his eyes to look into Crutchie's newspaper bag. He nodded towards the three papers that were left, "Are those for any individuals in particular or are they surplus?" At Crutchie's confused look, he explained, "Are they extra?" Crutchie's eyes widened in understanding as he said that they were. Dr. Calloway nodded and held out three extra pennies, "Then in that case, I believe I will purchase them for some of my colleagues. Then you may be on your way."

Crutchie almost protested on sheer principle. The doctor might have been trying to help, but it _felt_ like charity. Crutchie didn't take charity. Never had, never would. Still... their was a chance that the doctor might legitimately want to share those newspapers with colleagues. It was possible. So Crutchie decided to humor the old man and handed over the last of his papers without complaint. Trouble was... he was almost sorry to see them go. It meant his time here was done for the day and he'd have to head back to the boarding house. And that was a good hour's hike on a good day. On a day like today... well. It would take him longer than that, that was for certain. Still, it was only going to take longer if he never got started, right? Pushing himself resolutely off his seat, Crutchie started the long, arduous trek back to the boarding house.

By the time he reached Canal Street, Crutchie had slowed his walking considerably. Walking. Ha. Only someone being truly charitable would have called it that. Truth was, by now he was hobbling. He was hobbling and his right leg was one gigantic cramp. It hadn't been this bad since that first week in the Refuge after Oscar and Morris had gotten through with him. But he hadn't moved much while he'd been in the Refuge and this was the first real walking he'd done since getting out. He'd overworked it. Damn it all, he should have known better!

Crutchie paused by a store loading dock, considered sitting down for a minute, but quickly thought better of it. If he sat down, he just might not be able to get back up, again. He kept moving and only dogged determination kept him putting one foot in front of the other. The cramp was shifting with each step, expanding into his hip and lower back. By the time he reached Lafayette St., Crutchie had exhausted determination and worn out sheer cussedness and he couldn't have taken another step if his life depended on it. He stopped there, leaning on the bulk of the corner building and panting like a beaten dog as he tried to convince himself that he could make it the remaining seven blocks to the boarding house.

Three steps and two near falls later, Crutchie was finally forced to admit defeat. There was no way he was making it the rest of the way home without help. Eyeing the angle of the sun, he winced. Crutchie was always one of the last back to the boarding house and not many of the other Newsies would be heading back this way by now. He lowered himself slowly down to the ground, tired, in pain and out of options.

Crutchie didn't know how long he sat there, doggedly massaging his leg and watching the sun slip further and further down towards the horizon, but even the city's late summer air was turning chill by the time someone he knew walked by. He called out to the other boy, face burning with shame for the second time that day. Racetrack stopped, turned, looked around, then finally looked down. When he saw Crutchie sitting tucked up against the building he froze, then immediately dropped down next to him, hovering anxiously, "Crutchie! You... what happened? You OK?"

Crutchie smiled weakly and shrugged, "Overdid it, I guess. No big deal."

"No big...!" Racetrack cut himself off, shook his head, "You wouldn't be sayin' that if you knew what Jack'd do if he found out you was out here all damn night. Come on." He got a hand under Crutchie's left arm and lifted him to his feet, easily taking most of the smaller boy's weight. Between that and the support of his crutch, Crutchie was able to keep most of his weight off his twisted right leg, but that didn't mean the rest of the trip home was anyone's idea of a picnic. They were both sweating by the time they reached the boarding house, but Crutchie refused to be seen being half-carried up to the sleeping hall. He'd never live it down. Racetrack reluctantly left him at the door, as asked, and Crutchie made his way slowly inside and upstairs on his own.

Normally by this time of night, after the sun had finally set and the stars began making their appearance, Crutchie would have climbed the fire escape up to Jack's private spot on the roof. They'd have spent an hour or two staring at those stars and dreaming of a better tomorrow. Not tonight. Tonight... G-d, Crutchie was exhausted. He all but fell into bed, barely managed to get out of his clothes and under a blanket. Racetrack stopped by, asked him if he wanted anything to eat. Crutchie should have wanted something, should have been hungry -- he hadn't eaten anything since noon and it was nearly ten hours later -- but he just wasn't. He was too tired to be hungry.

Racetrack walked away frowning but unwilling to push the issue. Crutchie hadn't thought to ask, but the one thing he did hope was that Race would keep his mouth shut about this. The last thing Crutchie needed was for any of this to get back to Jack. Jack was torn up with enough guilt over what had happened to Crutchie as it was. He didn't need to shoulder anymore. Still, Racetrack would probably keep it to himself anyway, even without being asked. He was good like that, understood a smaller boy's need to keep his pride.

Every day after that, Racetrack started meeting Crutchie at the corner of Wooster and Canal -- his halfway point on the way back to the boarding house -- to walk the rest of the way back with him. At first Crutchie was embarrassed by the implication that he needed the help, but as the weeks rolled by and summer started slowly drifting towards fall, he was just grateful for the company and the helping hand when he needed it. And things slowly got better. As he got back into the routine, spent more time on his feet, the cramping eased, stopped plaguing him so consistently. And Jack never knew. That was how Crutchie wanted it.

Unfortunately for Crutchie, by the time he was able to pick his head up out of his own problems and look up again, to see past the end of his own nose... his whole world had changed. And the one who had always helped him navigate such changes in the past was less than no help at all... because he was at the root of them all.

  


* * *

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know it's fancy, but does it _look_ OK?"

Crutchie stared in bemusement at his friend as Jack fussed with his tie in the mirror. It was ridiculous. Jack in a bowtie? Jack in a clean, pressed white shirt? Jack in a vest, slacks, shiny black shoes... a _dinner_ jacket? Jack with his hair neatly combed and slicked back, not a smudge of dirt on his face? Finally Crutchie mustered enough of a voice to say, "Yeah, Jack. It looks OK."

Who was he kidding? It looked better than OK. It should have looked weird. It should have looked wrong. It should have looked like Jack was a little kid playing dress-up. It didn't. It looked great. _Jack_ looked great. Jack looked like he belonged in clothes like that. Jack looked like he belonged with people who wore clothes like that. Crutchie stared at Jack from his bunk, clutching his crutch to him like some kid with a doll. When had Jack changed into this? How had Crutchie not noticed?

Jack turned to face him, a beaming smile on his face, "Really, Crutchie? You ain't just sayin' that?"

...and the minute Jack opened his mouth it all fell apart. Crutchie snorted out a short laugh, quickly covered it with his hand. Jack frowned, threw a fake punch at him which Crutchie easily ducked. He tossed Jack a broad grin in response and enunciated very clearly, "'You _aren't_ just _saying_ that.' Not, 'You ain't just sayin' that,' Jack. How do you expect to fit in with all them muckety-mucks if you can't even talk right?"

Jack groaned and flopped down on his back beside Crutchie on the bed, "Fuck, you sure ain't kiddin'. What the hell am I doin', Crutchie? What am I _tryin'_ to do? This whole thing is ree-- reeduck--" He looked over at Crutchie, helplessly.

Crutchie laid a gentle hand on Jack's shoulder and patted him, "Ridiculous, Jack. It's ridiculous."

Jack threw his hands in the air, "Yeah! That's it. It's stupid."

Jack sighed, lowered one hand to take Crutchie's in his and held it up, staring at it like it held the answers to all the questions in the universe. He lifted his other hand and pressed Crutchie's hand between them, like he could somehow draw the strength he thought he needed from his friend through that contact. Crutchie shivered. It wasn't that he didn't like these moments... he did. He loved when Jack would rest an elbow on his shoulder, take one of his hands to hold, wrap an arm around his neck. He did. Jack had always been like that -- physically expressive. It was a concrete sign of friendship and, as uncertain as Crutchie always felt of his own worth, it was a welcome one. So, normally, he loved these little moments. Problem was... lately, he was starting to wonder if he loved them too much. Crutchie tried to draw his hand back, but Jack had a firm hold on it and wasn't letting go. He eventually gave up, let his friend keep it. Who was he kidding? He'd give Jack whatever he needed, whenever he needed it and never even think twice. What was a little discomfort? Crutchie shifted on the bed to better face Jack and said, "This ain't the first of these parties you been to, is it?"

Jack shrugged, "Nah. It ain't."

Crutchie smiled, nudged Jack's hip with his knee and said, "'No. It isn't.'"

Jack frowned, "That's what I said, wise guy."

Crutchie laughed and let it go, "So, if it ain't the first one, why are you so nervous, eh? Should be a piece of cake for you by now, all these hoity-toity affairs you been to."

"Yeah, well it ain't," Jack said as he sat up. He kept hold of Crutchie's hand, laced their fingers together as he repositioned it into his lap, then started rubbing his thumb idly back and forth over Crutchie's fingers like they were a worry stone. Jack muttered under his breath, "I hate goin' to these things. I always say somethin' stupid or spill somethin' or use the wrong fuckin' fork -- who the hell knew there was so many damned kinds of forks, anyways? -- or I do somethin' embarrassing or--" He cut himself off abruptly, then vehemently finished with, "I hate 'em."

For his part, Crutchie was mesmerized, watching the movement of Jack's thumb against his fingers, almost missed what his friend said. He pulled his attention back to the conversation with difficulty, distracted more than he should have been by the rough slide of Jack's thumb over his skin, "Then... why go?"

Jack sighed and stood up, dropped Crutchie's hand in the process. He paced back and forth a few times, finally said, "Katherine. I... I don't like to disappoint her, you know? She's beautiful and she's smart and she's funny. She's everything I always wanted in a dame. And she deserves to go to these fancy parties and eat fancy food and wear fancy clothes and dance fancy dances--"

Not liking the trend of this conversation at all, much less his friend's increasing despondency, Crutchie latched onto that last comment like a savior. He lifted his crutch and poked Jack in the leg, offered the other boy an impish grin, "You? Jack Kelly? You dance? And _fancy_ dances, no less?"

Jack stared at him for a minute, surprised by both the interruption and its nature, "I... what?"

Crutchie laughed, enchanted by the dumbfounded look on Jack's face. It wasn't often he was able to catch his friend flatfooted like that. He lifted his crutch and again used it to reach out and poke Jack in the leg, "You dance, Jack? _That_ I'd like to see!"

Jack stared at him for a minute, expression blank, then a wicked grin blossomed on his face and before Crutchie had a chance to say anything in protest, Jack had grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. He dropped the crutch as he lost his balance, was forced to brace himself on Jack's chest. The taller boy grinned down at him, took his hand, wrapped an arm around his waist and started twirling them around the room to a multitude of cat calls. Crutchie was forced to hop just to keep up with his friend, nearly stomped on Jack's foot on purpose to pay him back for the indignity.

Eventually Jack stopped spinning them around and Crutchie swayed, felt like the room was still moving around him. He was dizzy, a little short of breath... and far too aware of Jack's proximity and how reliant he was on his friend at the moment just to stay upright. Jack chucked a finger under Crutchie's chin, beamed down at him and squeezed him in a brief hug, "There. Now you seen me dance. Happy?"

Crutchie gaped at Jack for a minute, face flushed and still reeling from that whirling dance. It took him a while but once he regained his equilibrium he gave Jack a good shove, used it to push away from his friend, "You're a real ass, sometimes, Kelly, you know that?"

Jack just laughed, "Yep. So I been told."

Crutchie caved in and laughed, too. He couldn't help it, not when Jack was grinning at him, so boyishly happy. Jack walked over, let Crutchie use him as support to get back over to where he'd dropped his crutch. Once Crutchie was safely seated on the bed again, he patted Jack's shoulder and said softly, "You'll be fine, Jack. And Jack... if she really loves you, she won't care that you're an ass, sometimes, neither. 'Cuz you may be an ass, but you got a heart of gold."

Jack's smile softened and he took Crutchie's hand in his for a minute, said his thank yous with his eyes alone. And they warmed Crutchie more than any blanket in the world could have. He tucked that warmth around him as he laid down for the night and tried to ignore the chill that crept in after it when he realized that even though Jack had stayed in New York... he was still heading off to a place where Crutchie couldn't follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Yeah... still not in the right frame of mind for chibi-silliness.
> 
> Crutchie: *grumblegrumble*
> 
> R-chan: *blinkblink* Eh? What was that?
> 
> Crutchie: *enunciates clearly* You just don't want to hear what I have to say.
> 
> R-chan: *slow smile* You know... you're right. ^_^
> 
> Crutchie: *gapes*
> 
> R-chan: *skips off, whistling*
> 
>  _Questions, comments, lentils and corn?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _11/9/11:_** The plot thickens. Mwa-ha-ha. Last chapter before the rating goes up. *waggles eyebrows* Sorry it took me so long to post, but this was the section of fic where I had randomly changed my mind about story direction and character interaction back when I first wrote it. I thought I'd ironed out all the kinks when I went back, but, uh… no dice. So, several sections in here required a little more reworking than I'd anticipated. The rest of the fic should go up faster… I hope.

Things changed over the next few months. Against his better judgment, Jack let Katherine talk him into bringing some of his artwork to a few of the major newspapers and started selling some of the cartoons on a freelance basis. It put more money in his pocket than he'd ever made as a Newsie, but he still couldn't quite let go of his old life. Carrying the banner... that was what it was all about. It was about bringing people the news, not helping to write it. It was an upheaval in the natural order of things and like those fancy parties he got dragged to more and more often, Jack didn't like it. He didn't like that it pulled him away from his friends, from the only life he'd ever really known. Still... it happened. Kids grew up, and if they were smart, they grew better, found new ways to make a living. This could be Jack's way. And what better way to make money than by getting people to pay him to do something he loved? He wished that argument was more convincing, because so far... he wasn't convinced.

Today, though, he didn't have to think about it. Today, he was a Newsie. With winter rolling in, some of the boys had gotten sick and Jack had decided to step up and sell their share, then use the money he made to pay off their rent at the boarding house for the week. It wasn't like he needed it for himself anymore. He could afford a little charity. He strolled up to the distribution center, hands in his pockets, more at ease than he'd been in weeks just by being back here. He was noticed immediately, cheers and backslaps greeting his arrival.

He searched the crowd and smiled when he saw Davey and Les. They'd be moving on soon, too, Jack thought. Their father's leg was long-healed and he'd been looking for a new job. Once he found one, his boys would be back in school. And that was good. Les might have what it took to be real Newsie, but Davey never quite would. He was a little too honest, a little too honorable… a little too a lot of things. And both of them deserved better than being stuck in this life. They had potential and it would be a real shame to see it wasted, even though it made Jack a little sad to think of being a Newsie without them. Then again... hadn't they been Newsies this last little while largely without him? Maybe it was just that they were growing up, moving on, and Jack wasn't ready to leave behind any of his friends who weren't.

Jack greeted the others, shook hands, gave hugs -- really, it was like he was some damned visiting celebrity or something. It had never bothered him before, but this time… truth was, it made him a little uncomfortable. He made his way quickly towards the front of the line and smiled when he saw Racetrack and Crutchie holding a spot for him like nothing had changed. Before he could go claim it, though, Mush caught his attention with a question. Jack turned to start talking to the other boy, but after a few minutes, something made him look up -- some instinct, some recognition, movement out of the corner of his eye, Jack didn't know, but he looked up just in time to see Crutchie all but fall off the loading dock in an attempt to back away from something.

Something? No. Some _one_. Oscar Delancey. Jack's eyes narrowed. He'd never had a chance to pay Oscar and Morris back for what they'd done to Crutchie that day, had purposely avoided starting any new trouble after forming this uneasy truce with Pulitzer over Katherine. But this... this was unacceptable. Jack had never let them get away with harassing his friend before and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

Crutchie had dropped a few of his papers and when he bent over to pick them up, Jack caught Oscar leering at the smaller boy in a way that set his teeth on edge. Crutchie's face was pale as he gathered up his papers, but he got them into his bag as quickly as he could and got the hell out of the way. Jack couldn't help but notice his friend's flinch as he walked past Oscar, nor the vicious way that Morris stuck out a foot to trip him on the stairs. Crutchie avoided it easily, as though he were used to such things. And the fact that this had been going on long and often enough that Crutchie would have _had_ to get used to it made Jack's blood run cold.

Jack reached out a hand to stop his friend as he went past, started to say something, but the look on Crutchie's face stopped him dead in his tracks. Crutchie's eyes were determined, resolute... angry. But they were scared, too. Jack recognized the look, hadn't thought to ever see it on his friend's face, again. Crutchie had worn that look often when they'd been younger, when he wasn't strong enough to fight back, when he didn't have Jack to protect him. It was the look an old, beaten dog gets when he's backed into an alley by a pack of strays. Jack had had more than his fair share of brushes with his friend's temper when he got himself into that state. He'd bite any hand that reached out to him, even a friend's. So, though his gut was screaming at him to go after Crutchie, Jack let him go without a word.

Jack turned back towards the distribution window and pushed up his sleeves. Oscar and Morris wanted a fight? Well, Jack was more than happy to give them one. They'd had it coming a long time. But just as Jack was marching up to the window, all but blazing with righteous anger, a bright, happy voice pulled him up short. Katherine. Damn it. What the hell was she doing here? He waved her away, back behind the gates, but she shook her head and came into the yard. The boys were happy to see her -- for most of them it had been a while -- but Jack just wanted her gone. She'd seen a lot of his ugliness, that was true... but he couldn't coldly attack someone in front of her. She shouldn't have to see that. He walked over to her and pulled her away from the other boys, "Katherine... what are you doin' here? You know I was plannin' on sellin' today."

Katherine smiled up at him, patted him gently on the cheek, "I know. I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to spend some time with you."

In spite of her innocent words, Jack sensed a deeper meaning. It was something in the way her eyes glinted, shifted away from his before he could catch her gaze. She was sniffing for a story. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, "Yeah? That so?"

Katherine met his gaze for a full three seconds before looking away sheepishly, "All right, all right. Damn you, Jack. Yes, I have an ulterior motive. I think there's call for a follow-up piece to my initial article -- something to show how the strike impacted the Newsies and to see if conditions truly have improved... or if this was just a bandage that will fall off with too much use."

Katherine's eyes shone as she spoke, that same fiery passion that had first drawn Jack to her. And he couldn't deny her anything when she looked at him like that. Jack sighed, "I figured as much. If it's all the same to you, though..." Jack waved a few of the boys over, "...I'll let you ask them your questions. I, uh... I got a few of my own I gotta ask." He sent a pointed look towards the distribution window where Race was just getting his papers from a smiling Oscar Delancey. Katherine was a newspaper girl. She'd understand about... asking questions.

Thing was, Katherine knew _him_ too well, too. She put a hand on his elbow, "Jack... is everything all right? I was... I was mostly kidding, but... _is_ there a problem?"

Jack shook his head, turned back to her. He sighed, "I don't know. Maybe. Katherine... I don't think I should say, yet, OK? It might be nothin'." Katherine accepted that and let the other boys lead her away, but not before admonishing Jack to let her know if he needed her help. Jack smiled, said he would, but in his heart, Jack knew he wouldn't. This wasn't nothing -- he'd known that the minute he saw the look on Crutchie's face earlier -- but it wasn't Katherine's business, either. This was something he had to handle alone.

Jack went up to the window to buy his papers, but he stayed away from the Delanceys. The moment was past when going after them would make a difference. They were like dogs that way -- if you didn't reprimand them right in the middle of the act of wrongdoing, they wouldn't even remember what you were smacking them for if you did it later. So, instead he'd deal with the more important part... Crutchie. And the first thing he needed in order to do that was information. When he came down off the platform, Jack caught Racetrack's elbow and pulled him aside. Racetrack sighed and before Jack even had a chance to open his mouth, he said, "Yeah, figured you'd be wantin' to talk to me. Guess this was new to you, huh, Jack?"

Jack's heart sank at the other boy's words, "What's new, Race?"

Racetrack shrugged, pulled out a cigar and rolled it between his hands but didn't put it between his lips, a sure sign of nerves. He shrugged again, replaced it in his pocket, "You saw, didn't you? I don't gotta tell you. When you started showin' less and less, the Delanceys... well, they got braver and braver, think they're big men, now. But they still don't pick on them's can fight back, see? And they know Crutchie keeps his trap shut, won't say nothin'. So..." He shrugged again.

Jack sat down hard on a stack of papers, "But..."

"But why didn't he tell you, Jack? That what you wanna know?" Racetrack asked. At Jack's nod, Racetrack sighed, sat down next to him, "He ain't a crip. We all know different, but that's what he wants us all to believe, right? He don't want to be a burden on anyone, 'specially you. He wants you to get out of this life, wants you to have somethin' better, figures you're the only one of us other than Davey who stands a chance. He don't want to be the one holdin' you back."

"But that... that's... that's so damned backwards I don't even know what the fuck it is, Race!" Jack said. He'd _never_ thought of Crutchie as a burden. Crutchie was his best, his oldest, his truest friend. He stood up, started pacing around the yard, finally demanded, "Where's he sellin' these days?" When Racetrack hesitated, Jack grabbed a double fistful of his shirt and shook him, "I'm gonna go knock some sense into his damned stubborn head. Now where's he sellin'?" Racetrack weighed the look in Jack's eyes for a moment, no doubt debating his odds of getting hurt if he refused again. He was Jack's friend, sure... but Racetrack knew that that wouldn't hold Jack back when it came to his need to protect Crutchie. Racetrack told him. Jack thanked him, kissed Katherine on his way out of the yard and firmly discouraged her from following, then set out after his friend.

  


* * *

By the time Jack had arrived at Washington Square Park his head had cooled some. He couldn't go barging in there and attack his friend with words or fists. Crutchie didn't need that, especially after this morning. He took a deep, steadying breath and ambled over, tried to look like he hadn't just run almost two miles to catch up to the other boy. Before he approached, though, he stopped to watch for a minute... and marveled.

If you didn't know better, you'd never know anything had happened. Crutchie was perched on a low stone wall, his newspaper bag next to him, smiling away like he hadn't a care in the world. Jack loved that smile, loved that in spite of all the crap life shoveled at him, Crutchie could still wear it... and, more importantly, still _mean_ it. He watched as Crutchie was surrounded by a group of small children, all hankering for attention and buying papers. He watched as Crutchie chatted up their moms, their nannies, sold them papers, too. It was like watching a little prince holding court. Jack didn't know what to make of it, but he got the sudden idea that his intrusion on it... might not be welcome.

Jack walked over anyway. He stopped at his friend's side and dropped a hand onto Crutchie's shoulder before sitting down beside him, ignored the small flinch Crutchie couldn't quite hide. He ignored, too, the hand that dropped down onto Crutchie's right thigh and started absently rubbing. He'd deal with all that later. Instead, Jack slung an arm around Crutchie's shoulders and pulled him into a one-armed hug, said, "What's with this 'Brian' nonsense? 'Crutchie' ain't good enough for these mucky-mucks you're sellin' to?"

Jack couldn't ignore the flinch this time, or the way Crutchie jerked out from under his arm and scooted away. After a tense minute of silence, Crutchie said, "You think my parents named me 'Crutchie', Jack? No one's parents is that mean."

Now it was Jack's turn to flinch. Of course. He should have remembered. Crutchie'd told Jack his real name when they were younger, much younger... before the other kids started calling him names like "Crip" and "Gimpy" and "Lamefoot". He'd picked "Crutchie" himself, figured it was less offensive and if they were going to call him something, he'd rather it be something of his own choosing. Jack and Spot had been the ones to help him make it stick. How could he have forgotten?

Crutchie sighed, shrugged, "Sorry, Jack. I'm just... I'm a little on edge today and that ain't helpin'. What'd you come way up here for, anyways?"

Jack turned towards him, said, "You. Crutchie... what's goin' on with you and the Delanceys? They pickin' on you?"

Crutchie smiled, small and a little bitter, and hunched in on himself. Then he shrugged like it didn't matter. Jack's heart clenched. It _did_ matter. Crutchie mattered. Jack reached out a hand to his friend but quickly pulled it back when Crutchie flinched a third time. The other boy looked away and again started absently rubbing at his right leg. Jack frowned, "That still botherin' you? From back in July? It's almost fuckin' November, Crutchie!"

Crutchie shrugged, rubbed a little more firmly, "It just... it stiffens up more easy, now, Jack. And it's gettin' colder. Same's any winter. No big deal, OK?"

"It ain't no big deal, Crutchie. If you're in pain, it ain't no big deal," Jack said. Seeing that he wasn't getting through to his friend, Jack finally said, "Come on, lemme help..." and moved to shift Crutchie's leg into his lap, but the smaller boy immediately flinched back from him, scooted away on the ledge. Jack said, "What...? Crutchie, what's the matter wit' you?"

Crutchie winced, went back to rubbing at his leg, "Nothin', Jack. Nothin's the matter with me, OK? I just don't need your help."

Jack frowned, not willing to let this go, "You been actin' weird for weeks, no... months. What's goin' on, Crutchie? What happened that you ain't tellin' me?" When it looked like Crutchie was going to wave off his concern, Jack interrupted, harshly, "I saw what happened at the window, Crutchie. You can't tell me that was nothin'. I may be stupid, but I ain't blind. What happened between you and the Delanceys?"

And there was that small, hunched up posture again. Jack hated it, hated what it meant, but at least this time Crutchie answered him -- grudgingly, but he did answer, "Oscar and Morris... they worked me over when I was arrested."

Jack nodded, "Yeah, you told me that much when I came to bust you out."

Crutchie gave him a look then, another one that Jack recognized -- this time from Katherine. It was an "Interrupt me again at your own peril" look. He'd earned it more than once. Jack wisely shut his mouth and waved Crutchie to continue. It didn't pay to cross that look. Ever. Even when Crutchie was the one dishing it up. Crutchie sighed, slumped over his leg, "You remember that time you and Spot came across that gang of thugs goin' after that girl?"

Huh? Jack twitched. What on Earth did that have to do with this? Wary of earning that other look again, though, Jack nodded. He remembered. It would have been hard to forget. Spot had... Spot had even scared Jack that night and Jack didn't scare easy. They never confirmed it, but when they'd left that alley, one of the men Spot had been beating on... well. He didn't look like he was getting up again. Ever. That had been the one with his hand up the poor girl's skirt. It should have bothered him, the thought that Spot might have killed a man, but honestly, Jack found it real hard to feel bad about it, even now, so he generally didn't bother to try.

Crutchie hunched up a little more, whispered, "Gangs like that don't just go after little girls, Jack." Jack froze, all but stopped breathing as Crutchie continued, "They go after little boys, too, 'specially ones 'at can't fight back and can't get away."

Jack choked on the next question, "Crutchie... you?"

Crutchie shook his head, "Not anymore, Jack. I can take care of myself, now, and it don't happen no more. But that night... Oscar and Morris..." He took a deep, shuddering breath before saying, "That night I couldn't fight back... and I couldn't get away. And I ain't the only one can't seem to forget it."

Jack didn't even think about it, he grabbed Crutchie to him, all but crushed him in his sudden need to have the other boy close, sheltered, in his arms where he could protect him. How could this have happened without him knowing about it? How could he have _let_ this happen? How many more times was Jack going to get Crutchie hurt before the other boy ended up dead? It was a chilling thought. Jack soon became aware that Crutchie was struggling against him, trying to push him away. Startled, he let go. Crutchie's face was pale, but there were high points of color in both cheeks. He looked unsteady, his breath coming more rapidly than Jack liked. He held Jack at arm's length, refused to let him any closer. For once, Jack obeyed. Crutchie swallowed hard, got his breath back, "So, now you know."

Jack nodded, chilled to the core of his being with that knowledge, "So, now I know."

Neither boy seemed to know quite what to say after that and both fell silent. Jack watched as Crutchie sold a few more papers, made pleasant small talk with all the people who came by. It slowly dawned on him that Crutchie knew these people. He knew their names, knew when they were going to come this way, knew what they liked, knew if there was something in today's paper that would interest them. And more than that... they knew _him_ , too, seemed genuinely pleased to see him sitting there, some even engaged him in conversation. Jack had known that Crutchie did OK for himself selling papers, but this... Jack was forced to admit it -- Crutchie was good. And he was good in an entirely different way than Jack was.

Jack had always wondered how Crutchie got by selling papers, since you could usually spot him in a lie a mile away. He wasn't good at making up stories on the spot, either. He'd get all flustered and tongue-tied and secretly Jack found it adorable, but he'd worried for his friend because of it. How could you really get people to buy these papers with these lousy-ass headlines if you couldn't... improve the truth in them? Apparently this was the answer. These people bought papers from Crutchie _because_ he didn't lie to them, because they trusted him... because they were loyal. They opened up to Crutchie, talked to him in ways they probably didn't to most anyone else in their lives judging by the things they said. And Crutchie thrived on it, blossomed under it. For the first time, Jack found himself wondering what Crutchie-- what _Brian_ would have been capable of if he hadn't been crippled. It was humbling.

When the customers cleared out, Jack said quietly, "So... your leg?"

Crutchie shrugged, "The more tensed up I get, the more likely it is to cramp up on me. Once it cramps, I can't do nothin' with it but ride it out and hope it loosens back up. And I been pretty damned tense lately. Between that and the cold comin' in..." He shrugged.

And really, Crutchie didn't have to say more than that. Jack remembered how badly the cold could lock up his smaller friend's leg, remembered, all too well, nights spent walking the halls with him when they were younger, supporting him while he tried to walk off the pain. How much worse must it be now with this cramping on top of it? And why hadn't Crutchie come to him for help like he always had in the past?

Jack hadn't been aware of speaking that last question out loud so he nearly jumped when Crutchie answered it, "You got things of your own to worry about, Jack. I can take care of myself these days. I just don't wanna be a burden on anyone, OK?"

If it would have helped, Jack would have throttled his friend for even thinking such a thing, but he'd tangled with Crutchie's pride on more than one occasion before now and knew what a useless battle that would be. Eventually he stood, feeling more useless than he had in a long time. He was out of his depth, here. His friend was in nine kinds of pain and every tactic Jack tried to help him just seemed to make it worse. And worst of all, Crutchie seemed more concerned with Jack's well-being than his own. What kind of an ass did that make Jack? Jack mumbled out some sort of excuse about needing to get moving on selling his own papes and, always understanding, Crutchie let him go with a big smile. Jack would never have admitted it out loud, but seeing the smaller boy sitting on that stone wall, bravely smiling for the world... it about broke his heart and he couldn't damned well take it. He fled.

  


* * *

Crutchie walked the last few blocks to the boarding house with a heavy heart. He shouldn't have told Jack what he did the other day, didn't know what had possessed him to say it. It was probably Jack giving him that look -- that desperate, please-let-me-help-you look -- Crutchie just couldn't keep his trap shut and he'd blabbed the whole thing. Well... not the whole thing. Thank G-d for small fucking favors. If he had... Jesus, he didn't want to think about it. But Jack had been avoiding him just as though Crutchie _had_ blabbed the whole sorry mess. He'd barely seen his friend, much less talked to him, in three days. And today there was a bite in the air and he was hurting more than usual and he just wanted to get inside, lay down and try to forget he even had a leg.

No dice.

Crutchie pulled up short just outside the boarding house. What the hell was Spot Conlon doing this far out from Brooklyn at this time of night? It wasn't like he routinely stopped by for social calls. Even with the temporary truce from the strike still on, he and Jack weren't like that anymore, these days Spot had even less use for Crutchie than he did for Jack and if he wanted to see any other of Manhattan's Newsies, he generally made them come to him, not the other way 'round. Crutchie approached slowly, took in the long, lean form of Brooklyn's leader as he casually rested against the wall of the boarding house idly rolling a pair of marbles around his palm -- no doubt a gift from Boots; kid liked to stay on Spot's good side and he had an eye for a straight-shooting marble. He looked completely relaxed, but Crutchie knew better. That relaxation was a lie. Spot could uncoil from that relaxed pose and have a man flat and at his mercy in under two seconds. There were reasons why Brooklyn was feared.

Crutchie stepped closer, approached slowly, like one might a sleeping lion. Crutchie had no real hopes of sneaking past unnoticed, but he hoped not to draw too much attention just the same.

No dice, again.

Spot saw him immediately, turned his blue eyes to take in Crutchie's form, the way he leaned heavier on his crutch than usual, the way he winced every time he put even a little weight on his bad leg. Spot had him split apart, tagged and catalogued before Crutchie'd even managed to say hello. And when Crutchie finally reached him, Spot didn't even give him the chance. He just pushed away from the wall and said, "It's about time. You're with me."

Crutchie gaped after Brooklyn's leader for a minute, then desperately hurried to catch up. Spot wouldn't want to hear that Crutchie was tired, that he was hurting. He wouldn't care. He didn't tolerate weakness in himself and he sure's hell didn't tolerate it in others. He would just expect Crutchie to keep up and if Crutchie didn't... well, Crutchie didn't want to find out what Spot would do.

Finding a kernel of extra energy, Crutchie caught up to Spot and hobbled along beside him as best he could. He just hoped that Brooklyn's Leader didn't intend to walk them too far away. He'd never make it. Not tonight. Fortunately for Crutchie's leg and his dignity, Spot's intended location wasn't very far at all, though getting up the fire escape turned into an exercise in dogged determination. At least he knew those stairs, knew them well -- they led to Jack's rooftop hideaway. There were a few crates up there, just about the right height for a pair of boys to sit on and a thin mattress that Jack had found for those nights when he slept up here. Jack had brought them up sometime last year. Once Spot selected his own place, Crutchie sank gratefully down onto a crate nearby, still unsure how he'd made it up the fire escape without falling. He didn't grab at his leg, but it was a near thing. Spot noted the aborted movement just the same. He nodded at the leg, said, "Jack said it's been botherin' you. More'n usual. I see that's true."

Crutchie hung his head. Jack had talked to _Spot_? Jack had talked to Spot about _him_? After years of not speaking at all followed by months of only speaking about the strike, _this_ was what finally got them talking? Crutchie half expected to look up and find that the moon had turned blue. He shrugged, tried to dismiss it, "Winter's comin' on. You know how it stiffens up once it gets cold. Ain't nothin' new."

Spot nodded as though he'd expected that answer, "Yeah. Yeah, I remember, Crutchie." He fell silent for a moment, then said quietly, "That ain't all I remember."

Crutchie froze in the act of rubbing at his leg, risked a glance up at Spot's cold, ice blue eyes. He swallowed hard and said, "Yeah? What else do you remember, Spot?" It could be any number of things, really. He and Spot certainly shared enough of a past, but Crutchie really wasn't eager to hear what it was, not if it was prompted by whatever conversation Brooklyn's leader had had with Jack and _certainly_ not if _that_ conversation had been prompted by the one Jack had had with Crutchie.

Spot's smile was grim as he drawled out his next words, almost daring Crutchie to make something of them and proving Crutchie's fears founded in one fell swoop, "I remember what it was like to be too weak to fight back, too small to run away and too pretty for my own good."

Silence fell, then, a brittle silence, a dangerous silence. Crutchie didn't want to be the one to break it, resolved not to. Jack had not only talked to Spot... he'd told him everything. That was the only possible explanation for Spot suddenly showing up to reopen this can of worms. He'd feel betrayed -- _should_ feel betrayed -- but he'd never told Jack not to tell anyone... and it wasn't as though Spot didn't already know. Crutchie remembered, too, after all... remembered those days when Spot was smaller than he, even, remembered how they'd huddled together at night, hiding under their covers and praying the bigger boys would pass them by.

Crutchie remembered more than that, though. He remembered when Spot changed, started fighting back, became hard, vicious... mean. He remembered how Jack had joined them, stepped into that widening spiral of violence and halted it before it could spread too far, had reined Spot in when nothing and no one else could. Crutchie had never told Jack about what things were like before he came along, had never breathed a word until this week, and even so... Spot's wasn't his secret to tell. He wouldn't have betrayed that confidence, not just from fear, but from respect... from love. He and Spot had been like brothers once, had shared everything. Crutchie missed those days, missed the old Spot, but the old Spot had been weak and this new Spot didn't tolerate weakness.

Those old memories, though... they were awful, yes. They woke Crutchie up at night, soaked in sweat, still. But they were old memories, past. Even this most recent refresher couldn't change that. They weren't the reason he was having more trouble with his leg than usual. It wasn't the residual effects of the beating, either. He'd told Jack the truth -- it was stress and tension making it worse. It just wasn't stress from those things. It was something else entirely... and he didn't think he could tell Spot. He was too ashamed even for that. Finally Crutchie breathed out, "That... that isn't why..." He trailed off, made a helpless gesture at his leg.

Spot settled back on the crate, pulled out one of those two marbles and started dancing it around his fingers. He said nothing. He didn't have to. Crutchie was going to tell him what he wanted to know, one way or another. Spot knew that. Crutchie owed Spot that much. He owed _Jack_ that much. Jack had gone to Spot, reopened those old wounds for both of them, on the off chance that Spot could help Crutchie where he couldn't. Crutchie couldn't repay that by keeping his silence... but that didn't make this any easier. He cleared his throat, rubbed a little harder at his leg. After a few minutes spent watching him, Spot finally rolled his eyes, put the marble away and moved from his crate over to Crutchie's. He slid under Crutchie's leg, settled it firmly in his lap and took up the job that Crutchie had been doing so poorly. Crutchie winced as those calloused fingers dug into the knots in his thigh but he forced himself to remain still. This was a kindness, and a kindness from Spot Conlon was not wisely refused.

Eventually Crutchie relaxed, the pain eased. Spot might not be the gentlest, but he knew what he was doing. The knots unwound under his fingers, relief of pain working to loosen Crutchie's tongue faster than anything else could have. When Spot shifted to start working on the muscles of Crutchie's lower leg, Crutchie finally whispered, "I'd forgotten how much it hurt, but... I was still expectin' that. What I wasn't expectin'--" His voice choked off despite his best intentions and Crutchie couldn't speak the rest, not even for Spot.

Spot paused, stared down at Crutchie's leg. The firm pressure of thumbs into Crutchie's pain tightened muscles softened, became a smooth caress. Crutchie blushed but said nothing. Spot slid his hand higher, back up to Crutchie's knee, then up to his inner thigh. That was when Crutchie moved, reached out almost desperately to halt the slide of that hand before it could get any higher. Spot nodded, smiled... and it was not a nice smile. He bit out, "I bet they told you you liked it, didn't they?"

Crutchie's face, so painfully warm, paled all at once, the blood draining away and leaving him dizzy. He nodded, unable to say a word. Spot sneered then, tightened his grip on Crutchie's leg, pinched the nerve in his knee in the process. Crutchie whimpered, tried to pull his leg back, but he was too weak and Spot wasn't letting go. Spot looked up and met Crutchie's eyes, that twisted sneer lifting the corner of his lips, "And? Did you? Did you like it, Crutchie?"

Crutchie found his voice again, finally, exploded in a harsh whisper, "No! No, I... **No**."

Spot laughed, low and bitter, and loosened his hold on Crutchie's leg, went back to massaging it, as though in apology, "Yeah. That's what I told myself, too. Didn't sound all that believable then, neither."

Crutchie jerked in Spot's hold, stared with startled eyes at the other boy, "You... You? B-but..."

A shrug. Spot wouldn't look at him, had gone back to staring at his hands as they moved on Crutchie's leg. Finally he sighed, shrugged again, "Happened when I got older. I hated it, hated _them_ , wanted t'kill 'em all and _fuck_ it hurt. _You_ know. Only... it don't hurt all the time, not all of it. You know that, too, I guess. And _fuck_ that pissed me the hell off." He looked up again at that, eyes looking younger, softer than they had in years, "You... was this the first time?"

Crutchie met Spot's eyes and for once, for forever, for the first time, he saw that kindred spirit, again. He saw a small boy, just as scared, just as helpless, in just as much pain as Crutchie was. That boy was the one he answered. He nodded. Once. And as the darkness in Spot's eyes lifted, just a fraction, just a little bit, Crutchie found himself able to talk again, finally able to ask the question that had been burning in his gut since the day he'd been arrested, "Spot... _why_?"

Spot shrugged, ducked his eyes back down, "Don't know. Don't seem right, does it? I mean, bad enough somethin' like that happens and then..." He sneered again, "That shit's for pansies and I ain't no pansy, Crutchie. I spent years since then huntin' 'em all down and makin' 'em pay for what they did to me... what they did to _us_." He dug his thumbs a little harder into Crutchie's leg and Crutchie bit back another whimper. Spot said, "But that don't stop the dreams. That don't stop the memories. That don't make it go away."

Crutchie heard the barely suppressed pain in his one-time friend's voice, so kin to his own, and knew he had to do something. He reached out, took Spot's hands and pulled them off his leg then used that grip to scoot himself closer, half into Spot's lap from this angle, but he didn't care. Then he wrapped his arms around Spot's neck and pulled the other boy into a hug. Spot immediately stiffened in his embrace, tried to push him away. When Crutchie didn't let go, Spot ground out, "Didn't you hear me, you stupid gimp? I ain't no pansy. Get the fuck off."

Crutchie shook his head, held on a little tighter. Spot pushed at him halfheartedly, but made no move to do anything more. If he'd really wanted Crutchie off of him, a good hard shove would have done it, but Spot didn't even try. So, Crutchie waited it out, waited while Spot fought with himself, waited until the other boy finally gave in and relaxed in Crutchie's embrace, waited until that other pair of arms finally, reluctantly raised to hold him in return. After a few minutes, Crutchie broke that brittle silence and said, "You know what the worst part is?"

Spot snorted but tightened his hold a fraction as he shook his head. Crutchie made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, "That's probably the best there's ever gonna be for me."

This time it was Spot's turn to jerk in surprise. He pulled back just enough to look into Cruchie's eyes and said, "The fuck are you talkin' about? That ain't the best, Crutchie. I don't care what you think you felt, but there's way better than that out there. You just gotta find yourself a girl..." He trailed off, then, eyes widening in understanding.

Crutchie nodded, finally released Spot so he could scoot back onto his own crate. He shrugged, waved a hand at his crippled leg, "Yeah. Exactly. No girl in her right mind, no matter how ugly she is, is gonna want a puny crip like me, Spot. Not even a whore'd have me. And even if I could afford one..." He shuddered. Sex for money... the whole idea left him cold. It was like charity, but charity you had to pay to receive. He didn't want any part of that. If he was going to have a girl, he wanted one like Katherine, one who'd love him in spite of his flaws... maybe even because of them. But that was a dream, a hopeless, useless dream. No girl would want a crip. Things like marriage, children... they weren't for the likes of him.

"That... that ain't right," Spot said. When Crutchie just shrugged again, Spot grabbed his shoulders, shook him, "That. Ain't. Right."

Crutchie shrugged, again, frustrated that that was the only answer he could give but unable to come up with a better one. He tried to pull out of Spot's grip and failed. Finally he slumped in the other boy's hold and said, "It don't matter if it's _right_ , Spot. It just _is_. And it's OK. It don't matter. I'll live, you know? It ain't the end of the world or nothin'."

Spot fell silent, trying to process the things Crutchie was saying. Crutchie could sympathize. He knew how screwed up it was, how disgusted he'd felt when he realized he was almost perversely grateful to the Delanceys for what they'd done... how he had thought that at least he'd had a glimpse, a small taste, of what it could be, because that was all he'd ever have. And any minute now, any minute, Spot was going to shove him away in disgust. And he'd deserve it, too. Spot's hands tightened on Crutchie's arms and Crutchie braced himself for the shove that would send him to the ground... only it never came. Instead those hands pulled him closer until he was completely in Spot's lap and before he could even register what was happening, a warm pair of lips closed over his own.

They sat there like that, unmoving, barely breathing, for what felt like hours. Crutchie had no idea what to do. He'd never been kissed before. He vaguely thought he should try to push Spot away, should tell Spot that he wasn't a pansy, either, should do something to indicate that he didn't want this, only... only... he sort of did. No girl was ever going to want him. And maybe... Spot was a friend. Spot was his oldest friend, no matter how estranged. So, maybe... maybe with Spot... maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. Spot knew. Spot knew how it hurt. Maybe he could make it not--

Suddenly, Crutchie realized exactly what it was he was thinking, what he was considering, and in a moment of reality-laced panic, finally managed to push away from Spot and fell off the crate in the process. He stared up at the other boy, stupefied horror scrawled all over his face, breath coming in terrified pants. Spot stared down at him, equally horrified. Crutchie finally got out, "You... you ain't no pansy. You just... Spot, you just said..."

Spot got up from the crate, backed away, face shutting down as he did. And that was when Crutchie understood. He sat up, grabbed his crutch and got to his feet. He was still no match for Spot's height, but at least he could meet the Brooklyn leader's eyes from here. He breathed out the next words in barely a whisper, "But... you _are_." So many things made sense now. So very many things...

Spot flinched, wrapped his arms around himself and shook his head, "No, I ain't. And if you got any idea what's good for you, you'll forget you ever fuckin' thought that, much less said it."

Crutchie leaned forward, arm outstretched, "But... Spot, what if... what if I--"

Spot moved, then, lightning quick, like Crutchie had known he could, and had Crutchie pressed up against the railing of the fire escape before Crutchie had even seen the other boy leave his spot. Crutchie felt the kiss of cold metal at his throat then and froze. Spot hissed out, "You'll forget you ever fuckin' thought it, Crutchie. You hear me?"

Crutchie nodded carefully, wary of the knife. Before he could open his mouth to say anything else Spot was gone, leaving Crutchie to make his slow way down from Jack's roof alone. And Crutchie... well, he'd never been more grateful for Katherine than he was that night, because he had no idea what the _hell_ he'd have told Jack if he'd walked in on, well... any of that, even if it had been Jack's idea to send Spot after him in the first place.

But that left Crutchie with a bigger dilemma. In the past, problems with Spot had always required both he _and_ Jack to solve, but Crutchie was under no illusions, here. He had to figure out what to do about this on his own, because there was no _way_ he could tell Jack. And Spot's threats aside, Crutchie was _not_ going to walk away from this, whatever it was. He couldn't. Spot had meant too much to him once... and Crutchie remembered, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Crutchie: EH????
> 
> Spot: Hn. Ditto.
> 
> R-chan: *twitch* "Hn"? What the hell is that?
> 
> Spot: *rae* Don't ask me. You're the one who wrote me saying it.
> 
> R-chan: Eh??
> 
> Duo: *grins, waves impishly*
> 
> Heero: *scowls*
> 
> R-chan: Oh... oh, right... *blush* That's probably a side effect of all the old GW fics I've been re-reading... and the anime I've been rewatching, and... oh, boy. Sorry.
> 
> Spot: *twitch* Don't mention it. Really. Don't. In fact, don't mention _me_. Just leave me the hell alone from now on.
> 
> Crutchie: *gapes* Spot... you may not want to do that...
> 
> Spot: *shrugs* Why not?
> 
> Crutchie: *whispers* Because she's _scary_ when you piss her off.
> 
> Spot: *shrugs* Please. I've been living in her head since '92. She doesn't f'in scare me, anymore. Besides, I'm still waitin' on that promise of fic where I get to have a piece of Jackie-boy's--
> 
> Movie!Jack: *clamps a hand over Spot's mouth* For goodness sake, keep your trap shut!
> 
> Spot: *smirks*
> 
> Musical!Jack: @_@ I am _so_ confused...
> 
> R-chan: O_O Join the club.
> 
>  _Questions, comments, blueberry pie?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _11/9/11:_** Been productive today, got this part edited. Shock of shocks, it didn't require much. Probably since this is the part I've reread the most... *blush* Uh... yeah. So, Chapter 4 -- in which there is sex... and not between Jack and Crutchie. ^_~

Jack cursed long and loud and intensely. Another day, another party, another round of dressing up and playing nice to people who wouldn't have given him the time of day if they saw him on the street. He hated it, hated the fact that he had to pretend to be someone he wasn't. Katherine saw it, felt bad about it, but she couldn't pull away from it, either. She'd been born to this. She had expectations in life, expectations which had nothing to do with putting a roof over her head or food in her belly. Willing to admit it or not, she'd started higher up on the food chain than that and her expectations were higher to match. Jack couldn't fathom it. Even when he'd started selling his cartoons to the papers, he was still just another working stiff, maybe a slightly more respectable working stiff than he'd been as a Newsie, but still just a working stiff. He understood that. This... this he didn't understand. And he'd screwed up again, hadn't even realized it until he saw the look on Katherine's face, and had fled the party when he realized that he couldn't fix it easily this time. So, now he was standing out on the terrace, staring out into the unseasonably warm December night and waiting for Katherine to come and fetch him back to the party.

He wasn't disappointed. Several minutes later, a soft hand touched his shoulder, pulled gently until he turned. Katherine stood there watching him out of sad eyes. He waited, decided to be a gentleman and let her speak first. She sighed, stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. He wrapped his around her in kind, felt the tight muscles in his shoulders relax as she cuddled into his warmth. This, he understood. This was easy. She fit into his arms perfectly and he loved the way she felt when she was there. It was when she was _out_ of his arms that it all fell apart.

She sighed, a soft, breathless sound, and said, "Please, Jack... come back inside. Father's ready to give the Christmas toast. I'd like you to be there."

Of course. "I'd like you to be there" probably translated to: "It will look bad for me if you aren't," but what did Jack know? Maybe she really meant it exactly how it sounded. That was how he got into trouble, though. When he assumed one of these muckety-mucks meant what they said, it turned out they meant something else entirely and he'd end up the butt of some joke. And when he assumed there was a double meaning, something said to insult him, it turned out to be something harmless and he'd get in trouble for overreacting. It was like trying to take a rowboat through rapids without an oar. You might make it to the other side, but you'd be cut up and bruised by the time you got there.

And that was a stupid analogy, anyway. Jack had never been in a rowboat, had never fought his way through rapids. He'd never been out of New York. For the first time in a long time, he felt a brief pang of regret that he hadn't taken Pulitzer up on his offer. Santa Fe sounded better and better with each passing month. Still... that dream was gone. Like it or not, _this_ was his new dream -- success on his own merits, using the dirty secrets of the very hoity-toity richies who'd once kept him down to make his own fortune. It was... huh. What would Medda call it? Irony, maybe. Poetic justice. Jack would call it just desserts. At least parties like this were good for that. He'd have enough inspiration from this one party alone to draw a score of new cartoons. He smiled, nodded at Katherine and let her lead him back inside. Maybe there was something to be salvaged from tonight, after all.

Two hours later, as the clock ticked over and past midnight, Jack had to admit he'd been wrong. There was nothing left to salvage. After the toast, Katherine had insisted on dancing -- one of those fancy dances with a million steps that he could never remember. She'd finally let him go, wincing in sympathy at the sour look on his face, and had accepted Bill Hearst's offer of his arm, instead. Jack had been so relieved not to have to dance another dance that he'd let her go without argument.

He'd found solace in his glass of champagne, then in a glass of wine after that. Jack didn't drink often, didn't have a head for it, and by the time he'd finished off his third glass, he was feeling warm, free, ready to try dancing, again. He'd waited for a less formal, intricate number, then swept Katherine off her feet. They'd had fun, had laughed and twirled and danced four dances... until he'd crashed them into her father's table and upended the drinks of half her father's special guests into their laps.

Jack had tried to apologize, tried to make up for what he'd done, but Mr. Pulitzer had cut him off before he could truly get started, hadn't wanted to hear any excuses. Katherine was blushing like a chastised child and had barely managed to say a word in her own defense, much less Jack's. Jack finally excused himself and fled the party for good, told Katherine he'd call on her after New Year's. At least that got him free of the rest of the season's parties. Let Bill escort her. They'd all be happier that way.

And so Jack found himself wandering back towards the boarding house, more than a little sorry that he hadn't just stayed there to celebrate Christmas in the first place... with his real family. By the time he reached his destination it was almost one o'clock and he was still a little drunk. He got inside as quietly as he could, made his way to his bunk and undid his tie. And as he did, he noticed something odd. Crutchie's usual bunk was empty. Where on Earth could the other boy be at this time of night?

As he thought about it, though, Jack slowly began to smile. Of course. He knew exactly where Crutchie was. There was only one place the other boy could be. It was their little Christmas tradition -- had been ever since they came to Manhattan -- to go up to the rooftops and make their wishes on the Christmas stars, whisper them on the cold night air as they curled around each other to keep warm. Crutchie must be up on the rooftop, waiting for Jack to get home. The very thought made his smile widen. He'd been so busy lately, he and Crutchie hadn't had a lot of time to spend together. He wasn't going to miss this opportunity.

Jack grabbed his coat and climbed out onto the fire escape, tried to make as little noise as possible as he climbed up to the roof. He didn't want to wake anyone, even Crutchie if the other boy had fallen asleep waiting for him. Only when Jack made his way up to the rooftop it was to find something completely unexpected. Crutchie wasn't asleep... and he wasn't alone.

Jack froze, body stiffened in shock at the last turn of the fire escape ladder, completely stunned by what he was seeing. It took him a long, long, long and very confused moment to recognize the other boy on the roof and an even longer one to understand what he was seeing. Crutchie was kneeling on Jack's mattress, bent forwards at the waist to brace his weight on his forearms. His mouth was open in a silent 'Oh', breathless little moans tumbling forth over wet, parted lips.

Another boy was folded over him, arms braced on either side of Crutchie's, helping to support his weight as he moved against the smaller boy, slim hips pressing against his friend's backside. Jack refused to consider any further what that might mean, his mind refusing to process the possibilities. The second boy was making small noises of his own, rhythmic little grunts as he moved, eyes squeezed shut and mouth tipped into a small, tight smile.

Jack knew he should move, should get off the fire escape and get the hell back downstairs. He should go tuck himself into his bunk, curl up under the blankets and sleep off that vision like it was something alcohol-induced. But he could no more leave that fire escape than he could fix the mess he'd left for Katherine. There was something about the way the other two boys were twined around each other, something about the way they moved, pale and glistening in the Christmas moonlight... Jesus, it was so beautiful it made Jack want to reach for a piece of charcoal and commit it to paper.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Jack had reached a hand down and slid it under the waistband of his trousers to press almost desperately against the hardness he found inside. The wine. This was all the wine. That was what he told himself. That was what he _had_ to tell himself. No other answer was acceptable. He kept repeating it to himself as he wrapped his fingers around himself, started roughly stroking and pulling. Just the wine. Just the wine. Just the wine.

It had nothing to do with the graceful way Crutchie arched his back and tossed his head back against the other boy when the second boy changed the angle of his thrust. It had nothing to do with the way that arch exposed his friend's pale throat or the way his ginger brown hair seemed almost copper in the moonlight. It had nothing to do with the play of the strong muscles in Crutchie's arms as they easily supported the weight of both boys. It was just the wine. Just the wine. Just the wine.

It also had nothing to do with the way Crutchie suddenly gasped, ducked his head and bit down on his lower lip or the way the other boy took that as a cue to lunge forward and capture that abused lip between his own in a quick kiss. It had nothing to do with the arm that stole around Crutchie's stomach and slid lower to grasp at the hardness it found there. And it had nothing to do with the mewling cry Crutchie let out in answer to that movement. It was just the fucking wine.

Jack dropped his head hard against the nearest rung of the fire escape ladder, panting as he echoed that rhythm with his own stroking, desperate to keep from being heard by the two boys on the roof. He was jolted back to awareness as Crutchie let out an almost pained sounding cry and jerked in the other boy's hold, shuddering against him and again biting his lip to prevent any other sounds from breaking forth. The other boy cradled Crutchie against him, held him through the last of the shuddering before starting to move, again. Crutchie's arms were shaking now, but they held firm as the other boy moved, faster, faster, faster, until he, too, cried out, buried his face in Crutchie's back, breathing hard against the soft skin between Crutchie's shoulder blades.

It wasn't until Jack felt the wetness against his own hand that he fully realized what he'd done, what he'd allowed himself to do. And it really was just the wine. It _had_ to be the wine. It just... He pulled his hand out of his trousers, nearly fell from the ladder in his haste to get to his handkerchief and wipe it off. And in the silence, the noise Jack made grabbing onto the ladder was as loud as a gunshot. Crutchie didn't hear it, was already sleeping the sleep of the well-satisfied and exhausted, but his partner -- Jesus, his _lover_ \-- he heard it. Of course, he heard it. And when those blue eyes raised to meet Jack's there was nothing warm or friendly in them. In that moment, Jack was an interloper, an unwelcome intruder on an intensely private moment. That look promised him a world of pain if he didn't get gone _right_ that second... and keep his trap shut when he did.

Jack was no fool. Heart pounding with an odd mix of fear, pain... and a little hint of residual arousal, he fled the rooftop for the sleeping hall below. Because he knew better than anyone that you did not cross Spot Conlon... and you did not get between him and anything he'd claimed as his.

* * *

Crutchie made his way up Wooster, a smile on his face and a near skip in his step. Sure he was working on Christmas, but the Newsies of The World didn't get days off, not if they wanted to eat. But that didn't matter. He was happy. He was happier than he'd been in... Jesus, in longer than he could remember. He was needed, he was _wanted_ , he had someone to spend his nights with. He was so delirious with joy over it that he could ignore the tiny voice inside that tried to warn him that happiness was an illusion. It wasn't. Happiness was real, especially at this season. As though to prove that little voice wrong, Crutchie took advantage of the slick sidewalk and pushed against it with his crutch, his momentum letting him slide along the walkway for a few feet like he was on skis, laughing madly as he went.

A voice next to him and now just behind him snorted out, "Idiot," but it was laced with a warm affection that the other boy didn't even try to hide.

Crutchie turned back to face the other speaker, gave him the full benefit of his beaming smile. It was only fair. He was the one who'd put it there to begin with. Spot shook his head, a smile of his own peaking out from the corners of his lips. When he reached Crutchie's side he extended his hand and whacked lightly at the back of Crutchie's head as he walked past. Crutchie hurried to catch up. After a few moments of companionable silence, Crutchie asked, "So... what made you stick around? Thought you'd have your own papes to sell."

Spot shrugged, tucked his hands into his pockets and said, "They'll keep for a day. My boys'll take care of it for me anyways." He flicked a glance sideways and said, "Why? You tryin' to shoo me off or somethin'?"

Crutchie held up a hand, waved it in negation, "No! No, I just... I didn't want you goin' hungry or nothin' on my account."

Spot glanced around quickly and when he saw that they were alone, he smirked, stepped in closer and pulled Crutchie up against him for a moment, whispered softly in the other boy's ear, "What? You sayin' you wouldn't feed me if I was hungry? You'd let me starve, Brian?"

Crutchie shivered then, eyes widening and cheeks flushing. There was just something about that... about hearing Spot call him by his real name. It had been so long since he'd been called anything but Crutchie by the people who mattered to him, he'd almost forgotten he even had another name. But Spot had known him as Brian long before he'd known him as Crutchie and the transition back was easier for him. And he loved the effect that hearing that name had on Crutchie, loved seeing the flush rise on his cheeks as he whispered that name in promise of naughtiness to come. Crutchie risked his own glance around and when he verified that they were still alone, he nuzzled into the warmth of Spot's neck, pressed a soft kiss to the skin under the taller boy's jaw and said, "Never."

Spot laughed and let him go, resumed his walk at an easy pace and said, "Then there ain't no need to worry, is there? I'll loaf around Manhattan and you can pay to take care of me. Sounds just fine to me."

Crutchie gaped at him for a minute and hurried to catch up. He said, "Wait just a minute -- you sayin' you'd make a crip provide for you? Ain't that a little backwards? Oughtn't it be you takin' care of me?"

Spot stopped so quickly that Crutchie ran into his back with a small "Oof". Spot turned, his eyes fierce, and grabbed Crutchie's shoulders, gave him a small shake, "There ain't nothin' wrong wit' you, Brian. You hear me? Nothin'. You ain't no crip." When Crutchie opened his mouth to protest, Spot covered it with one hand and shook his head, "No. You ain't no crip. You got a bum leg, fine, but you ain't no crip. Not where it counts. If you had to, you could take care of me." He smiled then, reminiscent of the way he used to when he was younger, happy... carefree, "You could do anythin' you wanted."

Crutchie stared into those eyes, so firm, so resolute and just smiled. It was a small side effect to Spot not accepting any weaknesses. He expected the best from Crutchie, too. And since Crutchie felt much the same way, that worked out pretty well for both of them. Crutchie leaned forward, planted a quick kiss on Spot's nose, laughed when Spot squawked at the indignity. Crutchie said, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I can do anything." He leaned back, laughed, "Anything I want."

Spot's smile widened and he pulled Crutchie against him, again, hugged him tight before letting go and resuming his walk. Crutchie had been uncertain about it, the first time he'd brought Spot with him to Washington Square Park, but Spot was a polite guest, let Crutchie do what he needed without trying to interfere, and kept him company during the downtimes when there were no customers. He didn't stay with Crutchie for the whole day often, but when he did, Crutchie was happy to have him there. It felt like old times... better than old times. Crutchie hadn't realized how much he'd missed just having Spot around. It was nice to have him back.

Today was no exception. People were full of good cheer, children bundled up against the cold and their mothers and fathers turned out in their holiday best. Crutchie loved it, didn't even mind when some of the unfamiliar children yelled out upon seeing him, "Look, Mother! It's Tiny Tim!" He just smiled and waved back, and tipped his hat to their mothers. His regulars were there, too, buying their daily paper. And that wasn't all. Most of them paid far more for their papers than they were worth -- one man gave him a whole dollar -- and several of them snuck little treats and presents into his bag when he "wasn't looking". The whole process made him smile, warmed him in a way he couldn't describe. Spot watched the whole thing, expression incredulous, shaking his head.

When the square cleared out finally and Crutchie had sold his last paper, Spot finally added in his two cents, "What the hell was all that?"

Crutchie shrugged, peered into his bag with ill-concealed delight, and said flippantly, "Christmas bonus, I guess."

"You guess," Spot said.

Crutchie didn't even need to look to know that Spot's eyebrow would be raised and he'd be staring at Crutchie like he'd grown a second head or something. Crutchie knew from experience that most of the other Newsies didn't have things like this happen to them, even on Christmas, but it had always been different for Crutchie. It was the advantage to knowing your customers, the advantage to them knowing you. Crutchie had felt bad at first, knowing that he couldn't reciprocate the gift giving, but his customers had explained that they didn't expect him to, that they felt good knowing that they could do these small things for him. So, he'd let it slide and he'd shared his bounty with the other Newsies, especially the youngest boys who'd never had a real Christmas. But there was one thing... just one thing... Ah! There it was. Crutchie pulled the small package out of his bag with a cry of triumph and held it up. Spot stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

Crutchie just smiled, pulled gently at the ribbon holding the small package closed. Once the ribbon came untied, the little kerchief fell open to reveal a small stack of gingerbread cookies. They were Crutchie's favorite and Mrs. Windham brought some for him every year. Crutchie held out the package towards Spot, waited until the other boy had taken one before he took his own. He then smiled and took a bite. Crisp, rich and buttery, with just a little bit of bite to them, just the way Crutchie liked them. From the eyebrows up look on Spot's face, Crutchie could tell that he was enjoying his, too, so he held up the package for Spot to take another. Between the two of them, they finished off the small stack of cookies in very little time. Crutchie then laid back on the sun-warmed stones and tipped his face to the sky, belly full and still ridiculously, blissfully happy.

Moments later, a shadow blocked the warmth of the sun. Crutchie opened his eyes to find Spot hovering over him, an indescribable look on his face. It was something like Crutchie's blissful joy. It was something like warmth, like tenderness. And... it was a little something like pain and fear, too. Before he had a chance to ask, though, Spot leaned down and swiped his tongue across Crutchie's lower lip before pressing his own against it. When they parted again, Spot smiled impishly down at him and explained, "There was a crumb. Couldn't let it go to waste."

Crutchie laughed, pulled the other boy down for another kiss and, for just a moment, with Spot settled soft and warm on top of him and the sun in its winter radiance shining overhead, Crutchie thought to himself that this must be what it feels to be truly happy. Spot didn't linger, though, pulled away before anyone could catch them. Crutchie understood but was sad to feel him go just the same, especially because with the day drawing to a close, it meant that it was nearly time for Spot to leave. He wouldn't stay two nights in a row, Crutchie knew that, already. He couldn't afford to, not if he wanted to stay leader of Brooklyn. And Crutchie understood, but that didn't mean he would miss him any less.

They walked back to the boarding house, hand-in-hand when they dared, walking close enough to brush against each other even when they didn't. When they turned onto Broadway, Crutchie subconsciously slowed his walking, not eager to reach the end of their walk. Spot looked over, gripped his hand in understanding, but didn't let him slow down too much. They finally parted ways at Spruce Street, Spot to head over the Bridge to Brooklyn and Crutchie to go to the boarding house. It was stupid, but Crutchie paused at the corner, turned to watch as Spot ambled off into the distance. It was even stupider, but Crutchie missed him already. He snorted to himself, shook his head, _Like some love-sick girl or somethin'. Jesus, Crutchie, pull it together._

He turned back to walk to the boarding house and nearly ran full tilt into someone else. A hand reached out to steady him as he got his balance back and Crutchie blushed like he'd been caught at something naughty as he said, "Oh! Heya, Jack. Merry Christmas!"

Jack stared down at him, an unreadable expression on his face that made Crutchie squirm, but for the second time that day, he didn't get a chance to ask. Jack suddenly smiled brightly and pulled him close in a one-armed hug before turning to head up the stairs, "Merry Christmas to you, too, Crutchie."

It wasn't until they were safely upstairs that Crutchie got a hint from Jack what that had been about. Seemingly nonchalantly, Jack asked as he rummaged around his bed looking for something, "So, uh... what was Spot doin' all the way on this side of the Bridge? Don't he have enough to worry about in Brooklyn?"

Crutchie stared at his friend, uncertain. The others had been a little surprised when Spot started hanging around, didn't understand how Brooklyn's frighteningly strong leader could be friends with a weakling of a crip, or why he'd want to be. They didn't know. They didn't know that Spot and Crutchie had a history. No one knew... but _Jack_ knew. And since he did, why should he care if Spot came over from time to time to see Crutchie? Just because _he_ and Spot were no longer on easy terms didn't mean that _Crutchie_ and Spot had to follow suit. But the way Jack was talking... it almost seemed like he was fishing for something. Finally Crutchie shrugged, tried to match his friend's nonchalance, "Yeah, he's got plenty to do in Brooklyn, Jack. He just came over to visit, wish me a Merry Christmas, is all." When Jack turned to toss a skeptical look at him, Crutchie raised an eyebrow and pointedly reminded him, "He and I was friends long before you and me was friends, Jack."

Jack ducked his head, hunched his shoulders a bit and said quietly, "Yeah... yeah, I remember. We was all friends... once."

And that was the rub, wasn't it? They _had_ all been friends. Jack was bigger than them, tougher and more charming. The older boys listened to him and he'd taken Crutchie and Spot under his wing... protected them. They'd been grateful -- Crutchie still was -- but over time Spot had grown to resent it. He was tough enough to stand on his own and he'd become vicious, mean, in a way that Crutchie and Jack would never be. Came to be that Jack spent more time protecting people from Spot than he did protecting Spot from other people and they'd eventually come to blows over it. And when Spot took over as leader of Brooklyn's Newsies, he'd told Jack that if he didn't like how Spot did things, he should take his ass over the Bridge and stay the hell out of Spot's way. Jack had... and he'd taken Crutchie with him. It had taken a long time before Spot would even talk to either of them after that, much less forgive them. Thing was, it had always seemed like there was more to the story than that. As angry as Spot had been, there _had_ to be more to the story. It couldn't just be hurt pride. And now that Crutchie knew what he knew about Spot... he had a few suspicions about what that "more" might have been. But he wasn't going to open that can of worms unless he was damned sure of it.

The true shame of it, though, was that the way Spot and Jack had worked together for the strike had gone a long way towards mending things between them... but now that Crutchie was spending time with Spot, that seemed to be wrecking what little mending had already happened. And if anything, having Crutchie to act as a bridge between them should have brought them closer together. So, Crutchie was more determined than ever to help put the last of this fighting to bed and frustrated beyond belief that it seemed to be going back the other way, getting worse, instead of better.

Crutchie leaned over, put a hand on Jack's tense shoulder and said, "Jack... We all are still friends. Good friends."

Jack snorted, sat down on his bed to face Crutchie and said, " _Friends_ , huh? Are we, Crutchie? Are we all friends? 'Cause Spot sure's hell don't act like it. And these days... I been tryin' to pin you down to talk to you 'bout somethin' for a week and ain't barely seen hide nor hair of you. You and me... we still friends, Crutchie?"

Crutchie gaped at him for a minute, then got up and hopped over to Jack's bed to punch him in the arm, "Are we still friends? What's the matter wit' you, Jack? Of course, we's still friends. We's more than friends. We's _family_ , Jack."

Jack sighed, rubbed his hands over his face and said, "Lately it just don't feel like it, Crutchie. You and me... we used to talk about everything. I told you things I ain't never told _nobody_. Now... now I can barely talk to you about the weather."

What the hell was this? Crutchie didn't understand it. _Jack_ doubted if they were still friends? Shouldn't that have been Crutchie's line? Jack certainly hadn't been the most loyal friend since the strike. First, after fighting so hard for them, Jack had almost given it all up to run off to Santa Fe without even talking to them about it first, had also conveniently forgotten his promise to take Crutchie with him. Then he'd only _stayed_ because he didn't want to leave Katherine, forgetting the Newsies, again. And now, he barely had the time of day for the Newsies, spent most of his time with his girl and the newspaper muckety-mucks. Crutchie had tried to be understanding about it, he really had, and he _wanted_ Jack to have all those things, to have that better life, but... Where the hell did Jack get off acting like the wronged party in all this?

Before Crutchie could open his mouth to say any of that, though, Jack abruptly changed the subject, "So... I been lookin' forward to those gingerbread cookies all day. Even though I'm bein' an ass... you mind partin' with one? Since it's Christmas?"

Crutchie froze. He stared at Jack, the angry words drying up in his throat. He swallowed hard and said, "I, uh... Jack... I already ate 'em all."

Jack turned a look up at him out of the corner of his eye and it took everything Crutchie had in him to not label that look an I-told-you-so look, took things he didn't even have to fight off the need to feel guilty over it. Jack merely said, "Oh. I guess that's your right, ain't it?"

Unspoken was that Crutchie had _always_ saved at least one of those gingerbread cookies for Jack because Jack loved them as much as he did. He'd secrete those cookies away from the prying eyes of the other Newsies and he and Jack would break them out later on at night on the rooftop, their own little Christmas secret. And he'd somehow forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Crutchie sank down on the bed next to Jack and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't... I didn't even..."

Jack lifted his face, a smile firmly planted on it and bumped Crutchie with his shoulder, "They musta been pretty good if you ate 'em all yourself."

The lie was right there. All Crutchie had to do was pick it up and run with it to spare his friend's feelings. He just couldn't. He couldn't lie to Jack. He winced, looked away, "I didn't... Jack, I didn't eat 'em all myself. I... I shared 'em with Spot."

Jack nodded, eyes sad, like he'd expected that response. He said, half to himself, "You share an awful lot with Spot these days, don't you?"

Maybe it was the constant strain of keeping things secret from Jack when he'd always told the other boy everything. Maybe it was the fact that Jack was acting like the wronged party when he'd been the one to do the initial wronging. Maybe it was the fact that he had been having _such_ a damned good day and it was going down the drain faster than a tub full of dirty bathwater. Whatever it was, Crutchie had had enough. He pushed himself to his feet and said, "And what's it to you if I do, Jack? Someone's gotta be here for me now that you ain't."

Jack's mouth dropped open and for the second time that day Crutchie had someone staring at him like he'd just grown a second head. Jack reached out to take Crutchie's hand in his but Crutchie pulled away, took a step back. Finally Jack got out, "What... what do you mean I ain't been here for you? I'm _always_ here for you."

Crutchie shook his head, "No, Jack. You ain't. You haven't been for months. And that's fine, I can live with that. You got a girl, now. You got prospects I ain't never gonna have. And that's right. That's OK. You _deserve_ it... but it means you ain't here, not like you used to be." He hung his head, "I guess... I guess I always thought when you finally got yourself up and outa here that I'd somehow get to come with. But, Jack... I can't." Crutchie laughed, though his eyes filled with sorrow, "I thought maybe when you stayed, I'd at least get to keep a piece of you, you know? But even though you stayed... you're still goin' off to a place I can't follow. There's no room for someone like me in the life you're startin' to build, Jack. I'm just in the way."

Some of the other boys were starting to take notice, to look over in their direction and point, and Crutchie suddenly felt exposed. He didn't do this. He didn't air his dirty laundry in public. He didn't cause scenes, draw attention. It wasn't his way, never had been. He shifted uncomfortably as Mush took a step closer to the pair, concern in his gaze. Crutchie hunched in under the weight of it.

Jack saw Crutchie hunch up, turned and noticed the attention they were drawing, too. He stood up and leaned over Crutchie, said, "You mind movin' this to someplace a little more private? Clearly we got some things to say to each other and I'd rather not have an audience, if it's all the same."

Crutchie nodded, pasted a reassuring smile onto his face and followed Jack up the fire escape to his rooftop hideaway. Between the reentry into the cold air and the long climb coupled with the longer day and the tension building between he and Jack, by the time he reached the rooftop, Crutchie's right thigh was starting to send warning twinges his way. It was going to cramp, he could feel it. He sat down on one of the crates, hurriedly started trying to work out the cramp before it got well and truly started. Jack didn't notice. He was too busy staring at something else. And when Crutchie looked up and saw what he was staring at, he wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment. The mattress. There wasn't... it wasn't like he and Spot had _done_ anything to it. Not anything visible. Not anything Jack would notice. So why...?

Jack swallowed once or twice, throat working with the movement. Abruptly he turned back towards Crutchie, mouth open as though to say something, then stopped, eyes fixing on Crutchie's hands. He frowned, said almost accusing, "That wasn't botherin' you ten minutes ago."

Crutchie rolled his eyes in exasperation, kept working on his leg, "Ten minutes ago I hadn't climbed up a fire escape, Jack. Don't worry 'bout it, OK? It's fine."

Jack moved over, sat down on the crate next to him, finally took a deep breath and said, "You still can't do that for yourself worth a damn. Here. Lemme do it."

Jack reached out to pull Crutchie's leg towards him but Crutchie shifted, pulled the leg out of reach before Jack could get to it. When he spoke, his voice sounded breathy and a little panicked, even to him, "It's fine, Jack! You don't gotta do that."

Jack stared down at the ground for a second, said nothing. Crutchie winced. That had been a little harsh. He hadn't meant to snap at his friend. Jack was just trying to help. Jack didn't know... Crutchie didn't _want_ Jack to know. Finally Jack said quietly, "Would you let Spot do it? If he was here?"

Crutchie couldn't take it anymore, asked plaintively, "Jack... what are we arguin' about? Could you maybe just come out and say it, already?"

"I saw you."

In the deepening dark of Christmas' last light, with the chill of the air around them keeping the hustle and bustle of the streets to a minimum, those quiet words were as loud as a shout. Crutchie froze, hands stilling on his leg, breath stuttering in his throat, heart stopping in his chest. He could barely get in enough air to say, "W-w-what?"

Jack winced, waved a hand helplessly towards the mattress, "Last night. When I got back from the party. Didn't see you downstairs, thought maybe you was up here waitin' for me, like every Christmas Eve or somethin'. And I saw you. You and Spot." He waved his hand at the mattress, again.

Blood rushed into Crutchie's cheeks, then drained back out again just as quickly, leaving him feeling light-headed. He whispered, "I... I can explain..."

Jack shook his head, "You don't have to. I know... I know... Medda's looked out for me since I was a kid, right? Vaudeville's full of people..." He blushed, "It ain't the first time I seen somethin' like that, OK?"

When there was no immediate condemnation, Crutchie's equilibrium started to return and he was able to put words together. Bully for him. He said, "So... you don't care?"

Jack snorted, let out a slightly hysterical laugh, "To say I don't _care_ might be stretchin' things a little. I just... I didn't know you was one of them. Spot neither, OK? It... It's gonna take a little gettin' used to." He shook his head, finally turned to look Crutchie in the eye, "What I _really_ don't get, though... is why you didn't tell me."

Crutchie was able to meet Jack's dark-eyed, earnest gaze for all of two seconds before he had to look away. Finally he shrugged, said, "Didn't know myself, Jack. Didn't know until... You know what? Never mind. You wouldn't get it anyways."

Jack reached out, took Crutchie's hand in his and this time Crutchie didn't pull away. Jack laced their fingers together, started rubbing his thumb back and forth across Crutchie's fingers. And just as before, that slow slide of skin on skin was enough to drive Crutchie a little mad. Jack just said, "Brian... try me."

Crutchie let out a choked little laugh, then. That just... that wasn't fair. It was bad enough when Spot used his name to take advantage, to get what he wanted. Spot had earned the right to that name fair and square. But, Jack... Jack hadn't really earned it at all and hearing him say it... Jesus, Crutchie never stood a chance. He swallowed, said, "You'll hate me. You'll hate me. Jack, you'll think I'm--" Disgusting. Perverted. Devil-spawn. Heathen. Possessed. A thousand other things and Crutchie couldn't even say one of them, couldn't utter the words, couldn't tell Jack the one thing that might make all of this weirdness between them go away... because it just might end their friendship for good.

Jack used his grip on Crutchie's hand to pull him closer, wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders. G-d... how many times had they sat here like this? How many times had they sat here, Jack's arm heavy and warm around Crutchie's shoulders, staring up at the stars and wishing? Jack gave him a small squeeze and said, again, "Try me."

Crutchie took in a shuddering breath, finally nodded. He said, "The thing is... Jack, the thing is... it don't have to hurt. If... if you're careful, it don't hurt. More than that. It..." He blushed, couldn't say the words. At least Jack was blushing just as hard as he was. That made this a little easier, at least. Not much, but a little.

Jack finally said, "OK. OK, you don't gotta tell me that part. I... I saw that much for myself, right?"

Crutchie blinked, slowly turned to look up at Jack, eyes wide. He swallowed hard, said, "So... when you say you _saw_...?"

Jack closed his eyes, winced, said, "Yeah. Yeah, Crutchie. I _saw_. All of it."

" _All_... of... it...?" Crutchie couldn't process it, thought for sure the roof was starting to spin as he tried.

Jack abruptly let go of him and stood up to start pacing. Crutchie kept his silence as his friend moved, tried to figure out how to say what he clearly needed to. And when Jack finally found the words they exploded out of him like he couldn't have stopped them if he wanted. He said, "I wasn't expectin'... Jesus, Crutchie, I don't know what I was expectin' when I came up here last night, but sure's hell wasn't _that_! I mean, it's just, _you_ and... I just..." He trailed off, lost the thread of the words as he made a few helpless gestures in Crutchie's direction.

"Oh," Crutchie said. It was small, a little defeated. As Jack's eyes narrowed at him, Crutchie let out a short laugh, mindlessly started rubbing at his leg, again, "Yeah. I get it. A crip ain't supposed to... I get it."

Jack made a frustrated noise, sat down beside Crutchie, again, gripped his shoulder hard as he spoke, " **No**. Crutchie, you don't. It ain't 'cause you're a crip. There ain't nothin' wrong wit' you. It's just... It's because... it's 'cause you're _you_ , Crutchie. You always... you always seemed like you was above all that stuff, like you was better than that." Jack let out a short laugh, "I guess it's selfish, but I always thought it was kinda nice that I didn't never have to worry about sharin' you with a girl, since you never seemed interested or nothin'."

Crutchie paused in his rubbing, turned to look at Jack again, completely perplexed. Twice he tried to come up with an answering response and twice he closed his mouth without saying anything. Finally he said, "You... Jack... Are you _jealous_?"

The wildfire blush that raced across Jack's face at that question was warmth and joy and vindication all rolled into one for Crutchie. When Jack shrugged, then finally nodded then shrugged again, Crutchie started to smile. He poked Jack in the shoulder and said firmly, "Well, it damned well serves you right, Jack! I been sharin' you with girls since you was old enough to figure out what to do with one!"

Jack shook his head, eyes focused firmly on the ground between his feet. He said hoarsely, "It ain't the same thing." He took a deep breath, said, "It ain't the same thing. No matter what girl I was with, you always came first. You know that, right?" Jack looked up then, caught Crutchie's hand in his and pulled it close, "You and me, Crutchie. You and me against the whole damned world, remember? But now... this... Spot comes first now for you, don't he? I... I never did that to you, Crutchie. Never once."

Crutchie sighed, reached over and patted Jack's hand, "I... Jack, that just ain't true." At Jack's startled look, Crutchie said, "You been puttin' Katherine first for months, Jack. And like I said before, that's OK. She's good for you. She's smart, she's funny, she's a real knock-out... Jack she's everythin' you always wanted in a girl. She's perfect. And she's takin' you places you'd never go on your own. She's makin' you make somethin' of yourself. And it's _good_. You deserve those things, Jack, and I want you to _have_ those things, so I don't mind... but it gets a little lonely sometimes... sittin' here and waitin' for you to remember me."

They fell silent then, both boys lost in thought. Eventually, Jack said, "Well... what if it ain't worth the price?" At Crutchie's confused look, Jack grabbed Crutchie's hand, looked back up to meet his eyes, "What if losin' you ain't worth the price of havin' her? I don't _need_ her, Crutchie. I don't... she ain't the reason the papers buy my drawings. She ain't the reason I got money in my pockets, now. And... we ain't so perfect for each other as all that. I... Crutchie, I _hate_ them fancy parties she takes me to. Mr. Pulitzer... Jesus, he can't stand me, can't wait for Katherine to come to her senses and be rid of me. And I don't fit in with all her hoity-toity friends, neither. I love her and I wanted it to work out, but, Crutchie... I don't think it can. We's too different where it counts. Like old Jacobi would say," Jack screwed up his face and easily imitated the old Jew who ran the deli, "'A bird may love a fish... but where would they build a home together?'"

Crutchie refused to rise to the bait of his friend's joking. In spite of their light tone, there was real pain under those words and Jack wouldn't have said them without giving them a lot of thought. Katherine meant too much to him, he'd fought to hard to win her and he wouldn't be giving up after one bad day or on a whim. Crutchie gave Jack's hand a squeeze, said quietly, "This is what you wanted to talk to me about, wasn't it?"

Jack squeezed back, slowly nodded, "Yeah."

Crutchie leaned over and rested his head against Jack's shoulder, "Then I'm sorry, Jack. I shoulda been here for you." He finished quietly, "So... what're you gonna do?"

Jack sighed, "I don't know. I don't want to hurt her or nothin', but I just... I know we ain't gonna work out. And I don't want to string 'er along, neither. That ain't right. Anyways, she's spendin' the holidays with her family and I'm spendin' it with mine, give us both time to think. And even wit' whatever's goin' on right now... to me... Crutchie, 'family' is still you." Jack pulled his arm out from under Crutchie's shoulder at that and wrapped it back around him, "You's all the family I got, Crutchie. You and the Newsies. I don't wanna lose that."

"You won't," was Crutchie's answer, "You won't. I think of you that way, too, Jack. Always have. I... I love you. Like family." It was a small piece of the truth. It was the only piece Crutchie could give Jack... and it felt like a lie. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you G-d? Not on your life. Not on this one. Jack didn't need that. Jack didn't need to know that. Not ever. Jack was dealing with enough as it was.

As Crutchie's mind was spinning with the lies and the half-truths and the whole-truths and everything else that he didn't think he could say, Jack leaned closer and whispered, "What if that ain't what I want?"

Crutchie barely had time to register what was happening before a warm pair of lips closed over his own. And even as he lost himself in the sensation, Crutchie couldn't help but think that at least this time he knew what to do. And... it was nice. G-d, it was as nice as he'd ever imagined it could be -- and he'd imagined, all right -- better, even. And he'd wanted this... Jesus, he'd wanted it for longer than he'd known it was possible _to_ want this, since before the strike, since before the Delanceys... maybe even since before Jack took him away from Brooklyn. But Jack... Jack wasn't like that. He didn't... he liked _girls_. And Crutchie had _Spot_. And, Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch, could Jack's timing possibly be any worse? With a soft cry, Crutchie pushed Jack away from him and scooted back on the crate to put himself out of arm's reach.

Jack stared at him, confused, and said, "But... you... I... what's the matter wit' you? I thought..."

Crutchie just shook his head, eyes miserable, "Jack... you got the Devil's own rotten timing. What the hell are you thinkin'?" Before Jack could answer, Crutchie grabbed his crutch and got up off the crate, started doing some pacing of his own as he tried to ignore how the only thing he really wanted was to sit back down on that crate and pick up where they'd left off. He turned back towards Jack, "You... you ain't like this, Jack! And what about Spot? And Katherine? You just... Jesus, Jack, you can't just..." Crutchie let out a small scream of frustration and threw his free hand in the air.

Jack winced, hunched in on himself, "I... I guess I shoulda talked to you about that too, huh?"

"You sure shoulda, Jack!" Crutchie yelled back. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it! If the situation weren't so damned pathetic, it would be funny. It really would. Finally Crutchie pointed a finger at Jack and said, "You... you gotta figure out what the hell you want. 'Cause this... Jack, if you do this to me and you don't mean it..." He swallowed hard, eyes turning plaintive, "I can't. Jack, I just can't, OK?" Jack nodded. Crutchie took a deep breath, then said, "And if you _do_ mean it... Jesus. Jack, I can't promise you nothin', OK? Spot and me... we're happy right now. I don't know what that means, if it's gonna last forever or not, but... he could be my only chance to... to... to _have_ someone, OK? Someone who really gets it, who understands. And I ain't givin' that up -- I ain't even _thinkin'_ about givin' that up -- unless you're damned well sure. So you think about it, Jack Kelly. You think about it long and damned hard. Then we'll talk." And with those parting words, Crutchie turned and made his way down the fire escape, pain and anger lending him speed he otherwise wouldn't have had.

And Jack... well, he sat on that rooftop all night and he thought. He thought and he kicked himself and he thought some more. And by morning, the only conclusion that he'd reached was that he was a damned fool... and he needed to do some more thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Crutchie: Really? Honestly? You couldn't let me be happy and stress free for even _one_ chapter? One??
> 
> R-chan: *shrugs* Nope. Where's the fun in that?
> 
> Crutchie: *sighs* Damn it.
> 
> Claude: *leans over towards Nuriko* OK, maybe it's just me... but does it seem to you like she's letting him off awfully easy?
> 
> Nuriko: Jury's still out on that one. I'm honestly not sure. She seems to be putting him through the ringer.
> 
> Claude: I don't know. For some reason, she seems to have a soft spot for him. I can't put a finger on it, dude.
> 
> Crutchie: *gapes* This is her having a _soft spot_ for me?? D:
> 
> Nuriko: *snickers* Uh... yes. That would be the appropriate reaction.
> 
> R-chan: Oh for goodness sake, you people are hopeless. And so am I. This is the best I can do? Pfft. I'm pulling the plug on this before it gets any more pathetic. :-P
> 
>  _Questions, comments, pepperoni pizza?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _11/11/11:_** Happy 111111 Day, everyone! (Or Happy 63 Day, for those other math geeks out there. ^_~) :D Second to last part… and Crutchie _finally_ grows a backbone -- or at least rediscovers the one he has. ^_~

The day of New Year's Eve arrived and Jack was still thinking. The only two conclusions that he had managed to draw, however, were 1) that after a week of thinking, things were even less clear than they'd been before he started thinking and 2) that something irrevocable was broken between he and Crutchie and he had no idea what to do or say to fix it. Ever since that night Crutchie had been... well, he'd been awkward around Jack, tried not to end up alone with him, but even so, Jack would catch the other boy watching him sometimes, a wistful, sad look on his face. It was driving Jack a little mad, because when he saw that look he had a long ingrained impulse to walk over and put a hand on Crutchie's shoulder or an arm around his neck or to hold his hand and he couldn't do any of that without making Crutchie even jumpier than he already was. And now on top of that Jack had this new impulse to deal with -- an impulse to _kiss_ that damned look off his friend's face. Jack still wasn't sure what insanity had possessed him to kiss Crutchie in the first place, but now that he'd done it once, he couldn't seem to shake whatever it was... and it made him want to do it, again. All the time. But he'd never thought about other boys that way, even with Medda's influence and vaudeville's open mind in such matters. Boys dated girls, girls dated boys. It was a pretty simple equation. And even if some people thought different, well, that kind of thinking wasn't for Jack Kelly. Between his drawing and his painting and his dreams of a quieter life, Jack was different enough, already.

So what had changed Jack's mind so abruptly and drastically? He still didn't know. He loved Crutchie. He did. He'd loved Crutchie for a damned long time, had known Crutchie loved him, too. Losing him, even for just a few days, had torn Jack all to pieces. He hadn't been able to sleep, was hardly able to eat -- fortunate, that last, as he hadn't had any money to buy food with anyway -- and he could barely think. Crutchie's arrest and Jack's subsequent visit to the Refuge still haunted his nightmares. Honestly, Jack didn't know which had shaken him worse -- being forced to watch as Crutchie was arrested and being unable to help him or seeing Crutchie days after so hurt and so... Jesus, so _broken_ that he wouldn't even consider the possibility of escape. Jack never wanted to see him so hopeless ever again.

The other Newsies knew, of course, that Jack loved Crutchie. It wasn't a big secret. They were inseparable most of the time. And the others all knew that you didn't mess with Crutchie, because if you did, you'd find yourself on the wrong end of Jack's fists right quickly. And Jack couldn't deny that he liked that. Jack liked taking care of Crutchie, liked that everyone knew that Crutchie was his, in a way. And even though his friend chafed at his hovering sometimes, still, Crutchie humored him, because _he_ knew how much Jack enjoyed protecting him... and he loved Jack, too. And Jack had never realized before how much he relied on that friendship in return. Crutchie had always been there for him, supporting him, soothing him, providing little moments of humor -- even at his own expense -- keeping Jack sane in this insane city. It had never occurred to him to come to Manhattan without Crutchie, had never occurred to him to leave for Santa Fe without him, either. He just... he couldn't picture his life without Crutchie in it. That was why it had thrown him for such a loop when Crutchie had backed away from their agreement to go to Santa Fe together and it had been Katherine fighting so hard to convince him to stay in his stead. He hadn't understood. He still didn't.

Now Katherine... Jack really did love her. She was everything he'd always wanted to find in a girl. She was smart, funny and _damn_ she was quick. She had to be, because she was a girl trying to make it in a man's world. She had to be smarter, brighter, quicker, just to stand out amongst the boys -- the same way Crutchie had to be to compensate for his gimp leg. And even though she was strong, she was still willing to let Jack protect her, not with as much good grace as Crutchie did, but close enough. It was almost exactly right. Almost... but not quite. It was what he'd tried to tell Crutchie the other day -- all the pieces were there, all the elements of the foreground aligned... but the _background_ was all wrong.

Katherine's personality was exactly what Jack had always wanted to find in a girl, but she and Jack were from such different stations in life and that made it hard to find common ground sometimes. Jack never had to fight for common ground with Crutchie. It was just there. But what difference did that really make? Crutchie wasn't a girl and Jack couldn't have Crutchie that way. That was off limits, even for him... or it had been until he'd seen the other boy with Spot. When he'd seen that, Jack had abruptly realized that maybe he _could_ have had Crutchie that way all along. Suddenly... Jesus, suddenly it was _possible_ and it had been all that Jack could think about. The answer had been staring him in the face all along. He'd been trying to find a girl who was just like Crutchie... when Crutchie had been right there in front of him the whole time. Only now it was too late. While Jack had been caught up with Katherine, Crutchie had gone and found himself someone. And Spot... Jesus, how could Jack even begin to measure up to Spot? Crutchie had said it himself. He and Spot had been friends long before he and Jack had been friends. They had a longer, deeper history and Jack... lately all he'd been doing was letting Crutchie down.

And Jack didn't even know if he really _did_ want Crutchie that way. Just because it was possible didn't mean it was for him. He hardly wanted to admit it, even to himself, but what if he only wanted Crutchie now because he was jealous of how Crutchie and Spot had grown close, again? What if Crutchie was right to doubt Jack's intentions? What if Jack messed this up for Crutchie and then found that this wasn't what he wanted after all? The thought made him feel more than a little queasy. The last thing that he wanted in all of this was to hurt his friend more than he'd already been hurt. Probably the best thing for him to do was to just leave Crutchie and Spot alone and try to fix things with Katherine... no matter how much his heart tried to rebel against the idea.

But even with all of those thoughts and doubts churning in his head, Jack didn't forget the most important thing of all -- no matter how strained things were between them at the moment, no matter how hard this was getting to untangle, Crutchie still needed him -- well, needed his protection, anyway. It was the one thing he could still do for his friend that wasn't awkward and uncomfortable, that Jack knew Crutchie would still appreciate. So, Jack had taken to hovering around the distribution center even on days when he wasn't peddling papers. It kept Oscar and Morris in check and it was worth the effort to see that added strain lifted from Crutchie's eyes. Maybe it wouldn't make up for everything else he'd unwittingly put Crutchie through, but at least it was something.

Of course, with Jack at the distribution center every morning, it made him easier to find. Eventually, as he should have known she would, Katherine came looking for him. She had come by the distribution center that New Year's eve morning to see the rest of the boys and to extend Jack an invitation to the World's New Year's extravaganza. She'd been cagey about it, though, and for the first time, Jack wasn't certain whether or not she was asking because she truly wanted him to come... or because she felt she should. He'd given her an equally lukewarm response, hadn't wanted to start an argument with her in front of the others. Crutchie had caught his eye after that and just sadly shaken his head. Jack waved him off, though, didn't want to discuss it. Maybe that wasn't fair but he just couldn't handle it. His head was too fucked up over this whole mess already.

Jack spent the day wandering the streets of New York and visiting all his old haunts. He still didn't know what to think. He knew he'd screwed up. He'd screwed up tremendously. He'd screwed up with Katherine. He'd screwed up with Crutchie. He'd just plain screwed up... and he had no idea what to do to fix any of it.

Eventually Jack found himself in Battery Park, staring out across the water at the Statue of Liberty. He'd always thought she was beautiful, a friend in this city even when he'd had no others, but lately she looked so damned sad all the time, like she was lonely out there in the water or something. Jack could sympathize. No man was an island. Pretty words. He'd probably learned them from Medda. He'd never really understood that saying before but today, looking out at Lady Liberty, he thought he might. She stood out there on that island, that small patch of ground, all by herself, no one else to touch her, just holding that torch aloft for all eternity like a penance for some sin. Jack thought he could feel her pain, thought he might understand her need for penance, because with Crutchie avoiding spending any real time with him, he was starting to feel like he was trapped on an island himself. Leaning against that railing, staring out at the statue, Jack came to a decision. He didn't care how he got him back and he didn't care what he had to do to accomplish it. He needed Crutchie back in his life full time. He couldn't go on like this.

Jack turned to the left, gaze skimming across the water to land on the Brooklyn Bridge. He didn't want to do this -- by _G-d_ , he didn't want to do this -- but he really didn't have much choice. He had to make peace with Spot, had to settle whatever was between them, because if he wanted Crutchie back in his life, then he had to accept that Spot now came as a part of that. Jack did his best to ignore the tiny voice in his mind that added that if he did decide that he wanted more from Crutchie than friendship... then he owed Spot a heads-up on that, too.

* * *

Jack had accepted Katherine's invitation for New Year's Eve. Of course, he had. The boys had wolf-whistled at him as he donned his now-familiar fancy-schmancy tuxedo, had been full of leering taunts and innuendos about New Year's and kisses. Crutchie hadn't joined in the teasing, he hadn't the heart -- not when Jack was tossing him these sad, apologetic looks over the other boys' heads. He'd been stupid to hope, really. He'd been a real idiot to ever think that Jack Kelly would chose someone like him over someone like Katherine Pulitzer, even if he gave him a year to think about it. Dating Katherine was easy, it was expected, it would take Jack places he'd never dreamed of. _He'd_ be an idiot to turn all that down. Still, Crutchie _had_ hoped. Even aware of how stupid it was to let himself dream... still, he had. And as Crutchie watched Jack get all dolled up and ready to charm his way back into Katherine and her father's good graces, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was his only reward.

Jack dropped a hand onto Crutchie's shoulder on the way out the door, his face so full of conflicting emotions that it was damned near unreadable... and for once, Crutchie was too tired to try. Maybe that was why he'd tricked himself into thinking that the "I'm sorry" he could so clearly see in Jack's brown eyes looked just a little bit like a "Help me," but it was too hard to untangle and Crutchie just didn't have the energy for it. So he smiled and gripped Jack's hand for a minute, tried to express through that contact that this was OK, that he understood.

It wasn't OK.

...but he did understand.

When Jack left, Crutchie curled up on one of the windowseats of the boardinghouse, a blanket draped over his lap to hide the fitful twitching and trembling in his crippled leg. It did that sometimes in the winter. The cold, the damp... the added stress of getting around the city in bad weather. Crutchie sighed. It could only mean one thing -- it was going to snow. Bad. That would make getting around tomorrow really fun, wouldn't it?

Finch noticed, of course. He might play dumb half the time -- the other half the time, he really _was_ dumb -- but he was more astute than most of the boys gave him credit for. He saw Crutchie sitting in the window, quiet and withdrawn, trying to hide that he was rubbing at his leg. He walked over, gave him a lopsided smile and, nodding towards Crutchie's leg, gave him the usual straight line, "So, what's the leg say, Crutchie?"

Crutchie found a smile for him for the question and said, "I know Christmas was awful mild... so how do you feel about a white New Year's?"

Finch's smile widened and he let out a whoop. The other Newsies turned at the noise, expressions of surprise and curiosity stamped on their faces. Finch clapped a hand on Crutchie's shoulder and said, "We're gonna have snow for New Year's! Who's for a snowball fight in the yard tomorrow?"

As Finch moved away, already hot in debate and planning with several of his friends, Crutchie let the smile drop, turned back to the window and rested his forehead against the cool glass. It really had been stupid to hope. What did hope ever get you but a bruised heart when your hopes were dashed? And what would he have done if Jack had chosen him, anyway? What would he have told Spot? It really was for the best that things had turned out this way. Jack and Katherine would get married, have wide-eyed, charming, sharp-as-a-tack children and Jack would become a famous artist, finally get to go to Santa Fe and paint the place for real. He'd like that. And Crutchie would visit when he could, try not to put too much of a damper on their happiness, even when he got too old to peddle papes, even if he couldn't find other work that a crip could do... even if he finally had to resort to begging on the streets for his supper, like every other crip in New York. Jack deserved that life and Crutchie wouldn't have a place in it. He'd be just a small piece of an unhappy childhood memory...

Crutchie was so wrapped up in his own dismal thoughts that he missed the figure that walked up and rang the bell of the boarding house, also missed it as that slim figure slipped inside even over Kloppmann's protests. But there was no way on Earth he could have missed it as that person climbed the stairs to the sleeping quarters and slowly pushed the door open. It was like he brought the icy chill in the air up the stairs with him, his blue eyes were burning cold, so far beyond angry that Crutchie didn't have a word for it.

Spot.

Sensing the storm brewing, Racetrack tried to divert him with the dice game he'd started in the corner, Boots tried to distract him with a new marble, and Finch and Specs all but fell over themselves trying to get out of his way... but they needn't have worried. Spot only had eyes for Crutchie. When he reached Crutchie's window, he crowded in close, trapped Crutchie against the ledge. Spot's cold eyes never moved from Crutchie's, but he dropped a hand down to gauge the trembling in Crutchie's bad leg, made a soft clucking noise as he did, "Gonna snow, eh, Crutchie?"

This was wrong. Jesus, it was all wrong. Spot used his grip to push Crutchie's legs off the sill, then turned to the side to grab his crutch and held it out to him, eyes expectant. Crutchie knew what he wanted. He wanted to head up to the roof, because whatever he wanted from Crutchie, he clearly wanted privacy for it. And tonight... Jesus, Crutchie just knew that there was no way he was going to make it up that fire escape without killing himself, but the protest died on his lips, unspoken, as Spot's eyes iced over and he turned away. Crutchie understood the unspoken message. If he could do this, Spot would talk to him, would share whatever it was that had him in such a bad mood. If he couldn't... if he was too weak to keep up... Spot was done with him. They might still be friends after this, but it would never be the same. Spot didn't want to take care of someone, didn't keep people by his side who were weak. Fear of being left behind, of being left alone, got Crutchie to his feet. Stubborn pride got him into his coat and out the window.

...but it was his growing frustration with his own weakness and a burgeoning anger at his two closest friends for forcing him into this situation in the first place that got him up the fire escape. By the time Crutchie reached the roof, he was fair shaking with it. So when Spot dropped his bombshell of, "So, Jack came to see me today," into the silence, Crutchie was already ready to explode -- a pile of kindling waiting for a match.

And there it was: Jack had gone to see Spot. No doubt he'd gone to try to make peace with him. No doubt he'd done it for Crutchie, to ease the tension so Crutchie wouldn't feel like he was being pulled between them anymore. No doubt he'd done it for all the damned right reasons. Crutchie didn't care. Jack had gone behind his back to deal directly with Spot rather than tell Crutchie to his face that he wasn't wanted. And now Spot was going to try to leverage that and the threat of losing his affection to get whatever it was he wanted out of Crutchie instead of just _asking_ like a friend should... like Jack would have. Crutchie could see it in his eyes. It was the oldest trick in the damned book and it was the last straw on top of Crutchie's already broken back. He hobbled a few steps closer to Spot, head bowed, fist clenched. And when he was within reach, he hauled back and let that fist fly.

Spot never saw it coming.

Crutchie nearly overbalanced, caught himself with his crutch before he did, but Spot... he landed hard on the ground, flat out. He laid there for a minute, eyes dazed, trying to catch his breath. Crutchie could see the short little puffs of breath he was releasing into the frigid night air, like some kind of bizarre smoke stack. Finally, Spot pushed himself up into a sitting position, eyes so full of shock that there was no room for anger... yet. He raised a hand to rub at his jaw, a wary sort of respect in his gaze, "Jesus, Crutchie. That fuckin' hurt, you dumb crip."

Crutchie's fist clenched, again, and he glared at his friend, tried to ignore the sting in the well-worn descriptive, "Well, I didn't mean it as no love tap, that's for damned sure." He wasn't going to be the one to give in on this one. Spot was the one who'd come here to start trouble. If he wanted to fix it _he'd_ damned well better be the one to apologize. Crutchie had had enough of apologizing for things that weren't his fault.

Spot's lips spit into a reluctant grin, "Yeah... yeah, I got that." He rubbed at his jaw, again, "Damn, you got one hell of a left cross, Crutchie. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Crutchie shook his head, the anger already draining out of him with Spot's sparkling smile and compliments, in spite of his best intentions, "Ain't no one ever had cause to before."

Spot pushed himself to his feet and walked over to take a seat on one of the crates. Finally he sighed and patted the seat next to him. Crutchie walked over and perched on the edge. Spot was silent a moment more, then said, "You gonna let me say what I came to say, now, or am I gonna get punched, again, if I open my mouth?"

Crutchie blushed but shook his head. The apology slipped out in spite of his resolve not to let it, "I... I'm sorry about that, Spot, I just... I've had a damned lousy week, OK? I ain't in the mood for games."

A hand stole around Crutchie's waist and pulled him in close to the warmth of Spot's side. Spot deposited a brief kiss on Crutchie's temple before speaking, "Yeah... yeah, I think I got that. And I'm sorry, too. You didn't deserve that and I had it comin'. So how's about we just call it even, OK?" When Crutchie nodded, Spot smiled, kissed him, again, "Good. So, like I said, Jack came to see me today. And Crutchie... fuck. I still ain't real sure what he wanted." He pulled away to look Crutchie in the eyes and said, "He knows about us."

Crutchie nodded, unsurprised that Spot was unsurprised. He didn't think Jack would have told Spot outright, but Brooklyn had ways of finding these things out. He said, "Yeah, I knew that."

"You did," Spot said. It was almost a question, almost a show of surprise, but not quite either. He paused then shook his head, dismissed it as inconsequential, "I tell you, Crutchie, I think our Jackie-boy is a little confused. He was either there to welcome me back into the family... or to warn me off his turf. I still ain't quite sure which."

When Crutchie's heart gave a stupid little lurch at those last words, he firmly told it to quit its idiocy. He also ignored the surge of warmth he felt when he heard Spot call Jack "our Jackie-boy." Spot hadn't called him that -- especially not with such open affection -- since before Jack and Crutchie had left Brooklyn. Instead he just asked Spot, "What do you mean?"

Spot shrugged, "Like I said, I ain't real sure. It was awkward. Real awkward. I think he wanted to make peace between us, you know? To stop the fighting. And between you and me, Crutchie... I'm ready to be quit of that, too. I already almost don't remember why we's fightin' to begin with. And for your sake... I'm read to forgot what little I _do_ remember. I know how it upsets you when Jack and I is feudin'."

Crutchie's breath got stuck in his chest a little at that, but he forced the words out anyway, "Thank you. Spot... thank you for that. It means a lot."

Spot smiled, let out a short laugh, "Eh. Ain't nothin'. Truth is, Jack and I shoulda put that fight to bed years ago but we's both too damned stubborn. So, fine. That's that. But the rest... Thing is... I think he's got feelings for you, Crutchie."

Crutchie pulled out of Spot's embrace, huddled on the edge of the crate as he shook his head, "No, he don't. It's like you said. He's just confused. He went to Katherine tonight. He don't want me. He never did. He just... he's confused. That's all."

"Uh-huh," was Spot's helpful reply. When Crutchie turned pleading eyes on the other boy, Spot shrugged, "He didn't come out and say it or nothin', if that's what you's thinkin', but all the same... I think he's got feelings for you." He snorted, a wry smile twitching at the corners of his lips, "He was sure actin' enough like a jealous lover, anyway. All bristled up and manly and protective. You wanna know the truth, Crutchie... it was kinda sweet."

Crutchie reached out and shoved Spot hard in the shoulder, "It ain't funny, Spot."

Spot's eyes immediately softened and he reached out to grab Crutchie's hand, placed a gentle kiss on the knuckles, "No... no, it ain't funny at all."

Spot pulled Crutchie's hand closer, started to run his fingers over the other boy's knuckles. And all Crutchie could think was this: it didn't feel right. Spot's fingers were too thin, the calluses in the wrong places. He fought to not pull his hand back, to not tell Spot to stop. But this... this holding of hands... it was his and Jack's thing. It was one of the few things they still had that was theirs, even with the current awkwardness. It was the one way that Jack had to let Crutchie know that nothing had changed, not really, not where it counted.

Spot sighed as he let go of Crutchie's hand and repeated, "No, it ain't funny." He shook his head, "Crutchie, I ain't never asked, 'cause I figured it weren't none of my business and I ain't one for lookin' a gift horse in the mouth... but do you got feelings for Jack?" When Crutchie blushed in answer, a knowing look spread across Spot's features, "Yeah. That's what I thought." He got up, started to pace slowly back and forth.

Crutchie rose to his feet, finally blurted out, "It... Spot, it don't _mean_ nothin'!"

Spot smiled, a touch of melancholy hovering around the edges of the expression, "Yeah... thing is, Crutchie... I think it does. See... I think I've always known. You's had feelings for Jack from the beginning. Maybe you didn't know it for what it was back then, but you been... you been _in love_ with him practically since you met him. And I think, maybe... maybe it's been that long for him, too." He laughed then, "Only he's got less of a clue even than _you_ do. You're right, Crutchie... it ain't funny. It's fuckin' pathetic." He sat down on a crate several feet away and dropped his head into his hands, started rubbing at the temples.

Crutchie took a step closer, arm outstretched, unsure what to do. This... this was all wrong. Finally he closed the remaining distance and reached out to take over rubbing Spot's temples. The other boy sighed and let himself lean back against Crutchie. He snorted out a short laugh, "I'm losin' you to him all over again, ain't I? Even if he marries Katherine and pops out a dozen brats and never looks your way twice, you's gonna be pinin' after him the rest of your life, ain't you? You's always gonna be thinkin' of him when you's with me."

Crutchie let his head droop until it rested against Spot's and reached his arms down to wrap around the other boy's chest. Heart clenching in pain and throat closed up with shame, Crutchie could only shake his head. He needed to deny it, needed for it not to be true... but he knew it was. Now that Spot had opened his eyes to how it could be, now that he knew what his feelings for Jack really meant... there was no putting that jack back in the box, so to speak. He resolutely ignored the tear that leaked from the corner of his eye. He wouldn't cry. He wasn't _that_ weak.

Damn it.

As a second tear joined the first, then a third and a fourth, Spot sighed, turned and pulled Crutchie down into his lap, cradled the other boy close against his chest. He ran those long fingers through Crutchie's hair and down his back, murmured soft, soothing nonsenses into his ears... just like he used to when they'd been kids and nightmares of the accident that had crippled him woke Crutchie out of a sound sleep. Eventually the tears slowed. When they stopped entirely, Spot pressed a gentle kiss on Crutchie's chapped lips and disentangled himself.

Once Spot was standing a safe distance away, he reached out to gently caress Crutchie's cheek, "So, here it is, Brian. When I said I was tired of all this fightin', I meant it. If the strike taught me anything it's that we's all got to stick together. I miss the days when we was all friends -- you, me and Jackie-boy. I want 'em back as bad as you do. I may not deserve it... but I want that third chance." He ducked his head, said quietly, "So, here's what I'm gonna do to earn it." He looked up then, locked gazed with Crutchie, "I'm gonna be the better man and walk away. Jack may not understand it, yet, but he..." Spot swallowed, forced the word out, "...he loves you, Brian. You shoulda seen him when you was arrested. Jesus, he could barely function without you. He needs you, he just don't know why. You're the most stubborn and persuasive bastard I ever met. So, you use that, you explain it and you convince him. Don't let him push you away. You hold onto him for all you're worth and you don't let go." He gave Crutchie a sad smile, "It'll work. After all... it worked on me, didn't it? And I'm more stubborn than Jackie-boy could ever hope to be."

Crutchie opened his mouth to deny it, but Spot beat him to it and covered Crutchie's mouth with his hand, "It's OK. Really. It's OK. It'll work and you'll both be happy. And it ain't like I ever lacked for companionship before, yeah? I don't aim to start now." He back up a pace, turned towards the fire escape but when he reached the edge, he paused, half-turned back, "And not that I aim to hang around waitin' for you like some lovesick girl or nothin'... but if by some chance I _am_ wrong and it don't work out... you know where I am." With those last words delivered, Spot was over the edge of the roof and down the fire escape, leaving Crutchie alone with his mouth gaping open and a swarm of angry and confused thoughts in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** And now for some _true_ chibi silliness... O_o;;;
> 
> Crutchie: It's about damned time I got to tell someone off! *fuming*
> 
> R-chan: Sorry… sorry…
> 
> Crutchie: *twitch* I'd feel a damned sight better about it if I didn't know you were droppin' me back into navel-contemplatin', self-directed angst mode in the next chapter!
> 
> R-chan: O_O I said "Sorry!" Yeesh. What the hell else do you want me to say?
> 
> Crutchie: *mumbles*
> 
> R-chan: *sweatdrop* I think I didn't catch that.
> 
> Crutchie: *pointed look*
> 
> R-chan: O_O O_O O_O *blush* *tiny voice* I'll think about it.
> 
> Crutchie: *glares*
> 
> R-chan: *frantic* I said I'd think about it!
> 
> Claude: *wanders over* What does he want? We didn't catch it either.
> 
> Nuriko: *nodnod*
> 
> R-chan: *mumbles something about an epilogue, then runs away*
> 
> Claude/Nuriko: *gapes after the chibi*
> 
> Nuriko: *rounds on Crutchie* You **have** to tell me how you did that.
> 
> Crutchie: Did what? *innocent blinks*
> 
> Nuriko: *waves hands desperately after the fic author* THAT!!!
> 
> Crutchie: O_O I, uh… I ain't sure what you're askin'.
> 
> Claude: *sighs* *reins in Nuriko* You… how can I put this delicately? You aren't exactly intimidating… yet you seem to intimidate her. Why?
> 
> Crutchie: *slow smile* Mental association. It's a bitch.
> 
> Claude: *sweatdrop* I don't get it.
> 
> Crutchie: *pats Claude* Yeah… somehow didn't think you would. Don't worry about it, OK? *hobbles away*
> 
> Nuriko: *sigh* *hangs head*
> 
> Claude: *patpats Nuriko*
> 
>  _Questions, comments, salted caramel mocha?_
> 
> Mmmm… salted caramel mocha… *_* *drool*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _11/12/11:_** Last chapter! :D Mental note: I do not like to edit as I post. It sucks. Don't do it again. :-P *coughs* Anyway, this story is finished. There may or may not be an epilogue whose sole purpose is to get Jack and Crutchie into bed together. We'll see. I have two papers to write and I'm already getting distracted by like… three other fics. O_o;;; So, we'll see on that one.
> 
> Enjoy! And please remember… comments and review are love. ^_^

Jack had been on his best behavior tonight, he really had. He'd stayed away from the wine. He'd stayed away from the dance floor. He'd stayed away from Mr. Pulitzer. He'd almost stayed away from the buffet tables, too, but he was so nervous that he'd worked up a major appetite. Still, he stuck to the things that he knew were intended to be finger-foods so he could at least avoid the silverware issue. With each hour that passed without incident, Katherine's smile got wider and her eyes a little more relieved. Jack relaxed along with her. He could do this. He _could_ do this. Eventually, though, the dancing issue came up, like he should have known it would. Deciding that discretion was definitely the better part of valor on that one, Jack bowed out, deferred to Bill. Katherine was disappointed, but took the escort swap with good grace. Jack did his best to ignore Joe Pulitzer's triumphant smile at the exchange. Instead he wandered over to sit with Darcy Reid.

Darcy had been sitting alone most of the evening -- when he wasn't talking with Bill Hearst, anyway. Jack generally didn't like to bother a man who was clearly trying to avoid people, but he needed to put himself somewhere where he wouldn't be in the way. And, unlike most of Katherine's friends, Darcy at least tolerated his presence and didn't treat him like he was a trained monkey. When he sat, Darcy lifted his glass of wine in a small salute and drank down half of it before talking, "So... you finally had enough of dancing attendance?"

Jack blinked and replied, "Huh? Wait... what?"

Darcy snickered softly to himself as he downed the rest of his glass and motioned to one of the servers to bring him another, "She does have quite a gravitational force around her, does she not? She draws in every eligible male in a three mile radius whether they wish to be drawn or not. She's like a force of nature, our Katherine. Were she a man, she'd doubtless be running the country by now."

Jack only understood half of what the other man was saying but he caught just enough to get the gist and to tentatively agree. Darcy wasn't wrong. Katherine was bright and smart and ambitious and she had a way about her... you just found yourself doing what she wanted even if you'd started out directly opposed to that course of action. It was how Jack had found himself at these parties to begin with. He shrugged, "Yeah, but that's part of what I love about her, I guess. She knows what she wants and she goes after it. Ain't no shame in that." He winced then, covered his embarrassment over the word slip by grabbing a glass of wine when the server came back with Darcy's refill and taking a sip.

Darcy snickered softly into his glass before taking a drink, "Yes. Exactly so, Jack. 'Ain't no shame in it,' at all."

Jack frowned and leaned a little closer, "What the hell's wrong wit' you, Darcy? You drunk or somethin'?" Sure, the other man would occasionally indulge in a round of good-natured teasing, but he wasn't usually this blunt or mean-spirited about it.

Darcy leaned forward to rest his head on his folded arms and, staring wistfully across the dance floor, said softly, "Definitely 'or somethin',' Jack... but working my way steadily towards the former."

Jack followed the other man's gaze to see what had him so worked up, but the only thing of interest to stare at in the direction that Darcy was looking was Bill and Katherine, twirling around the dance floor, eyes sparkling and laughing with innocent joy. He turned back in time to see Darcy sit back up and finish off his second glass of wine -- though who knew how many the other man had had before Jack sat down with him? The way he was acting, Jack would put his money on "more than one." He breathed out softly, "Jesus... what is wrong wit' everyone these days? You in love with Katherine or somethin'?"

Darcy laughed a little bitterly as he snagged another glass of wine. When Jack pulled it out of his hand before he could take a sip, Darcy just frowned and gritted out, "'Or somethin',' again, Jack Kelly. Now will you kindly return my drink? As I believe I mentioned, I am attempting to achieve a pleasant state of drunkenness and you, my friend, are inhibiting my efforts."

Jack wordlessly handed over the drink and turned back to look at Katherine and Bill. He frowned. Darcy might claim that he wasn't in love with Katherine but from his words earlier and the way he was acting... Jack froze, cursed quietly to himself. Jesus. Oh, Jesus Christ. It was like now that he knew what he was looking at he saw these people everywhere! He turned back, whispered almost urgently, "You... you ain't in love with Katherine. You... Jesus. You's in love with _Bill_?" He all but squeaked that last.

Darcy winced, choked on his last swallow of wine. Jack cursed, leaned forwards and patted the other man on the back until he stopped choking. Darcy's face was red -- from embarrassment or lost oxygen, Jack couldn't have said, but as soon as he got his breath back, he grabbed Jack's arm and desperately hushed him, "Mr. Kelly, I don't know where you got that idea from, but please, for the love of all that's holy, keep it to yourself."

Jack raised an eyebrow, then said, "Huh. That ain't what I was expectin' you to say, Mr. Reid -- since we's on a last name basis, again, suddenly."

Darcy stared at him for a moment, slowly blinking in confusion, before leaning back and saying, "And what, pray tell, were you _expecting_ me to say?"

Jack just smirked, leaned in close and whispered, "I was expectin' you to deny it." As Darcy's face paled a shade or two, Jack lifted his own glass in mock salute, "Tellin' me to keep my trap shut ain't the same as tellin' me I was wrong, now is it? In fact... I'd say it's about the opposite, wouldn't you?"

Maybe it was the wine or maybe it was something in Darcy recognizing something in Jack or maybe it was just that the other man was hurting and any ear was better than no ear at all. Whatever the case, Darcy grabbed Jack's sleeve, lifted a bottle of wine and two glasses from a serving table and dragged Jack out onto the balcony. Jack only caught a brief glimpse of Katherine's confused face before Bill turned her attention back towards the dancing and Darcy got Jack outside.

It was biting cold out here and Jack didn't know how Darcy didn't feel it, but he was grateful he hadn't taken off his suit jacket this time even if he'd have preferred his coat. Darcy neatly solved that problem by settling down into a little alcove containing a small coal brazier. Neat little trick that. These muckety-mucks thought of everything, didn't they? When Jack settled down next to him, Darcy wordlessly handed over a glass full of red wine. Jack took it, took a small swig and said, "All right. I'm here. You's wantin' to talk, I guess."

Darcy gave a short laugh and covered his face with his hands. When he looked back up, his eyes were red and full of such frustrated, bitter longing... Jack looked away first. Eventually Darcy began speaking, softly, quickly, as though if he got the words out fast enough, they would maybe go away, "You have to understand something, Jack. Bill has been sweet on our Katherine since we were children together. In truth, I was just as sweet on her as he was, for a time. She was a safe choice. She understood the world we lived in, understood what was expected of us just for being the sons of our fathers. And unlike the other young ladies of our class, she could keep up with us, even surpass us. It made her quite an attractive prize to win, strictly on her own merits. Add to that that she was her father's only heir and that she would thus someday inherit his newspaper empire... well, let's just say that it made her doubly attractive as a marriage prospect. Our fathers encouraged our friendship as much as they dared, but it quickly became apparent -- to me, at least -- that in the end, Katherine would choose neither of us. She is Joe Pulitzer's daughter to the core. She wants more from life than to be an ornament on some man's arm. You understand that better than any of us, I suspect."

Jack nodded, took a sip of his wine, "Yeah, she's somethin' special, all right. She's goin' places wit' her life and G-d help the man who gets involved wit' her and can't keep up. She'll leave him in the dust wit' all the rest of the trash."

Darcy nodded, smiled tightly, "Yes, yes, that's it exactly. I gave up on winning her ages ago, knew that we wouldn't be a match, even though I _can_ keep up with her -- Bill and myself are two of the only ones among our cohort who can. It's why she still engages our company and aid from time to time, I suspect." His voice dropped lower, so low that Jack could barely hear it, "I never expected this to happen. I didn't _want_ it to happen. It's wrong. I know that. The Church... the Church has very specific and damning things to say about it. My father would disown me, run me out of town, if he even suspected..." He paused, buried his face in his hands and took a deep, shuddering breath, slowly let it out, again, "And yet..."

Jack quietly finished for him, "And yet you still can't help feelin' how you feel... can you?"

"No... no, I don't think I can. And believe me... I have tried," Darcy said. His breath caught on those last words and he reached blindly for his glass, tried to take a sip only to find it empty. Wordlessly, Jack took the bottle and refilled it for him. Darcy acknowledged the kindness with a small nod and drank it down in one long gulp.

They were silent for a moment, neither quite sure what to say. Eventually Jack asked, "Does... Does Bill know? How you feel about him?"

Darcy's eyes widened and he frantically shook his head, "No. No, he does _not_. And I'd not thank you for telling him, if that's what you were thinking."

Jack held up a hand and said, "No. I wouldn't do nothin' like that. Your feelings is your own business. If you don't wanna tell him, I'll respect that."

Darcy slumped, then reached out a hand for the bottle and shakily refilled his glass, "I thank you for that, then. And..." He took a deep breath, looked up to meet Jack's eyes, "...I thank you for your understanding and your silence. I don't... good gracious, I don't even know why I told you any of this, but you listened without judging or condemnation and that is a damned sight more than any of my 'friends' would have done."

And seeing Darcy's eyes then, so starved for someone to just tell him, "I get you," to look him in the eyes and tell him he wasn't alone, that he wasn't a freak... to not have to hide for just one night, one moment... suddenly, Jack couldn't help but draw parallels. He'd seen that look before. He'd seen it in Spot... and he'd seen it in Crutchie. He'd been seeing it in Crutchie for _years_. And he'd seen another look from Crutchie, too -- the one Darcy had worn when he'd been staring across the dance floor at Bill. Crutchie had been looking _at Jack_ like that for years. Crutchie... Jesus Christ. Crutchie _was_ in love with him... But if Crutchie was in love with him, then why hadn't he...? Fuck, it didn't make any sense. Suddenly, Jack had to talk to his friend. He had to know why Crutchie had kept that to himself all these years when he usually told Jack everything. He had to know why, even when Jack had offered to reciprocate those feelings, Crutchie had pushed him away. There was too much he needed to know. And Jack had already missed their time together at Christmas. Suddenly, he felt like if he let the year close with this unspoken between them, with those questions unanswered, he was going to miss a lot more than that. Jack abruptly stood up, "I... Darcy, I'm sorry, but I gotta go. I... there's a guy I gotta see."

Darcy saluted him with his glass and said bitterly, "Well... I suppose there goes my last chance then." Jack paused long enough to shoot him a confused look. Darcy said, "As long as you were courting Katherine, Bill didn't stand a chance with her. I was... not entirely disappointed with that situation. But with you out of the picture, Bill _is_ the most logical choice. And... you _will_ be out of the picture... won't you?"

Jack swallowed hard, hesitated at the edge of the alcove, finally said, "Yeah... yeah, I think I will be. I... I _hope_ I will be. I... I gotta friend, see, and..."

Darcy's eyes softened and he said, "...and based on the timing of this revelation of yours, he's been quietly pining for you as long as I've been quietly pining for Bill?"

Jack winced, slowly nodded, "Yeah... I think he has. And I didn't know it 'til recently... but I think I been pinin' for him just about as long."

Darcy nodded, saluted him again with the glass before taking a small sip, "Well, then, I suppose I will wish you the best of luck." He laughed then, "Perhaps I should try my hand at being a Newsie. There's certainly something to be said for the freedom afforded to you by being beholden to no one."

Jack smiled, "Yeah... I never thought about it that way, but I guess there is, at that. And thanks."

Darcy shrugged, "Don't mention it. Just... someday promise you'll tell me if it all works out. I do so love a happy ending." He smiled then, small and sad, but real.

Jack dropped a hand down, gripped the other man's shoulder, "Yeah... I'll do that."

After one more exchange of glances, Jack took his leave, went back in to the party. He had one last thing that he had to do before he left... and he was not relishing the thought, especially when he realized he'd been silently bracing for it for weeks. He found Katherine off on one side of the dance floor, standing alone. When he approached, he said, "Sorry 'bout that... where's Bill?"

Katherine sighed before turning to face him, "I sent him off to fetch me a glass of water. After all that dancing, I was positively parched. Where did you get off to, anyway?"

Jack shrugged, "Eh. Nowhere in particular. Just keepin' Darcy company for a bit."

Katherine's eyes took on a sad cast at that, "Ah. Darcy. He has been under a great deal of strain lately, I think. Thank you for that." She paused, looked down at her clasped hands before continuing, "Jack... we can be honest about what's happening here, can't we? You didn't come over here to ask about Bill or apologize for abandoning your escort duties."

Jack shook his head, "No, I guess I didn't."

Katherine's lips stretched into a small, tired smile as she said, "Well, then let's be done with it, shall we?" She abruptly looked up, straight into Jack's eyes, and held out a hand for him to shake, "No tears over this, all right, Jack Kelly? We tried our best, we had some laughs, we changed the World. Not small accomplishments for a summer romance, are they?"

Jack smiled, relieved at the dance of mischief in her eyes and the answering smile playing about her lips. She was disappointed, but she wasn't broken. She'd probably seen the writing on this wall weeks before he had. That was his girl, after all. Jack said, "Not small, at all, Katherine Plumber. Not small, at all."

They shook on it, then both laughed. Katherine raised one small hand to cup his cheek and lifted herself onto her toes to lightly kiss his lips. She whispered into his ear, "Don't forget me when you're a famous artist." She leaned back to look him in the eyes, a wicked twinkle in hers, "I'll want an exclusive interview, of course."

Jack laughed, pulled her into a tight hug, "And you... when you're runnin' this pape -- or runnin' more than that -- don't you forget me, neither. The boys and me is countin' on it."

Katherine tilted her head at that and repeated, "Running _more_ than this paper?"

Jack smirked, chucked a hand under her chin, "Way Darcy tells it, if you was a man, you'd be runnin' the whole damned country by now... but if I know you half so well as I think I do, you won't be lettin' that stop you for long."

Katherine's gaze turned distant for a moment, her smile widening, "No... no, I don't think it should, either... You, Jack Kelly, are a wicked man and I love how you think." She kissed him once again, soundly, for good measure, then said quietly, "You... Jack... Tell him to take good care of you. Tell him I asked it of him. Will you?"

Jack's breath caught and he said, "Katherine...?"

She blushed a little, reached out to fuss with Jack's shirt collar, "Anyone who's ever been in the same room with the two of you knows how he feels about you." She paused, then continued, "And anyone who was around you after he was arrested knows how you feel about him. I... I don't know entirely what to think of it, but I do know that you're both strongest together. So... take care of each other, all right?"

Jack smiled, pulled her against him for one more kiss -- a real one this time -- then said, hoarsely, "Thank you, Katherine... we will. I'll make damned sure of it."

She let him go then, said she'd pass along his apologies -- then pertly added "and his your welcomes" -- to her father. He didn't waste any more time after that. It was almost midnight and this appointment was already long overdue.

* * *

After Spot left, Crutchie didn't have the heart to go back inside. He couldn't face the other boys. How could he explain Spot's abrupt arrival and departure? Should he even try? Jesus, what would they think if he did? If he really told them the truth...? Race... somehow, Crutchie thought Racetrack might understand, might at least hear him out, but the others? A lot of them already thought he was useless, thought he only got by because of that pity he so despised. They thought he was damaged in the head somehow because he was a crip. And maybe he was. These days it sure as hell felt like it. How else could you explain all the things he'd been thinking and doing?

No. No, Crutchie couldn't tell the other Newsies. And if he couldn't tell them, he couldn't go back inside, not when he was already sitting up here feeling like his heart was breaking. He'd hurt Spot and Spot had been so busy trying to protect _him_ that he'd brushed that little fact under the rug. He'd hurt Spot when that was something Crutchie had sworn he'd never do. He hadn't even meant to, but he couldn't control how he felt. He'd been trying for too damned long already to not know that. And Jack... Jesus, in spite of what Spot had said, Jack couldn't possibly want him. Jack had Katherine. Jack was with Katherine right now. He wasn't leaving her for anything or anyone. Crutchie had lost them both in one fell swoop and hadn't even had the wherewithal to protest it.

Crutchie slowly pushed himself to his feet, hobbled the short distance to the railing and leaned against it, stared out over the city. Normally, he didn't dare. If Jack wasn't nearby to grab him if he over-balanced, he wouldn't go near the edge. Tonight, though... tonight, Crutchie didn't care. If he fell and couldn't catch himself, so be it. Maybe that would be for the best.

Time passed. Crutchie had no idea how much. He hadn't kept track. What finally distracted him, though, from the silent vigil he was keeping at the fire escape railing was the fulfillment of a prediction he'd almost forgotten making. And as that first big, fat flake of snow drifted lazily down from the sky, all he could do was stare. It was followed quickly by another... and another... and another. Soon there were hundreds of them falling, ever bigger and wetter than the first. This was all going to stick, Crutchie could tell already. And now, _damn_ it, he really was stuck up here until Jack came home... if he came home at all tonight. Crutchie didn't dare brave the fire escape when it was all covered in snow like this. He'd fall for sure.

With a heavy sigh, Crutchie returned to his musings, his staring off into the city. There wasn't much else he could do. After only ten minutes of letting his mind be blessedly blank, however, something else interrupted his attempts at mental oblivion. This time it was a dark figure on the street below, determinedly churning its way through the quickly piling snow. Crutchie blinked in confusion at the vision. He'd have sworn he'd know Jack anywhere -- and that that _was_ Jack -- but Jack was at Katherine's party... and he wouldn't have left before the New Year's bell rang.

Crutchie watched as the figure glanced up towards the clock tower, then redoubled its efforts to push through the snow drifts. Once or twice the figure fell, stood back up, shook himself and continued. By the time he reached the boarding house -- because that apparently _was_ his destination -- he was liberally peppered with white patches of fresh snow. He threw open the door to the boarding house and pushed his way inside. A few minutes later, Crutchie heard the ruckus the man caused as he went through the sleeping hall, voice raised with questions and clearly not liking the answers.

Crutchie should move away from the railing. He really should. It... it would look bad. It would look... fuck, he didn't even _know_ what it would look like. But he just knew that that was Jack and Jack couldn't find him standing bent over the railing like he was thinking of doing something stupid. Because he wasn't. He really wasn't. And Jack would overreact. He always did. Before Crutchie could convince his cold-locked muscles to move, however, Jack was already climbing the fire escape, dark eyes boring holes into Crutchie's as he stared down at Jack from over the railing. When Jack saw him there, he cursed, started climbing faster. No. No, no, no. That wasn't good either. If Jack took the ladders too fast, _he_ would fall.

Before Crutchie could open his mouth to say that, though, Jack had already reached the last landing. Jack flung a hand up, a look of... of... panic? Fear? Concern? Crutchie didn't even know what to call it. Anyway, he had this _look_ on his face and he was fixing it on Crutchie and then he opened his mouth and said, "Don't. Move. Crutchie, I'm comin' up to get you, OK? So, just... don't move. _Damn_ Spot. I can't believe he fuckin' _left_ you up there. Didn't he think you might need help getting' down in all this?"

Crutchie wanted to laugh at that. Of course, Spot would have thought of it. He also would have thought that if Crutchie was dumb enough to hang around up here until the snow made it impossible for him to get down... well, then maybe Crutchie deserved to get stuck, right? Right. Damn it.

When Jack climbed the last ladder and swung himself over the railing, he wrapped an arm around Crutchie's shoulders and ushered him quickly away from the edge. As stiff as his leg had gotten from the cold, Crutchie was forced to hop to keep up. He hated that, hated that he was going to seem weak for this confrontation... whatever it was going to be.

Jack pushed Crutchie down firmly onto one of the crates and stood over him for a minute before cursing and sitting down next to him. A moment later, he was back on his feet, then kneeling on the ground at Crutchie's. Finally, he pulled another crate around and sat down directly across from Crutchie and took the other boy's hands in his, pressed them together and tried to chafe some warmth back into them. And as he did, he started to speak, low, intense, urgent... and Crutchie drank in his words like a man dying of thirst.

Jack said, "Look. I know you told me to think about all this. Well, I did. I thought about it. I did nothin' _but_ think about it all week. And you know what I came up with, Crutchie?" When Crutchie just mutely shook his head, Jack looked up, fiercely met Crutchie's eyes and said, "I don't give a rat's ass _what_ you call it... but it don't feel right when you're not around. It feels like everything's broken and nothin' makes sense. And I think it's the same for you." Jack laughed, short, a little bitter, "Maybe Katherine had the right words, in the end... we's stronger together than apart. We take care of each other. Crutchie... _Brian_... I need you. I've always needed you. I'm always _gonna_ need you. I don't know what the hell else to call that... if it ain't love."

Crutchie stared at Jack for a full minute before he was able to come up with a response. Of all the things he'd thought Jack might have had to say to him when he came up those stairs, this sure as _hell_ wasn't it. It wasn't even close. And Spot had clearly been wrong about one thing -- Jack might not be ready to say the words yet, but he'd just proved beyond a shadow that he knew what he was feeling. Because he was right. If that wasn't love, well, then Crutchie didn't know what love was, either. He swallowed hard, stared down at where his hands were pressed between Jack's and said, "Yeah... Jack, I think you're right. I... I didn't know what it meant, neither, not for the longest time... but yeah, that's gotta be love." His voice dropped into a whisper, "I think I love you, Jack. And not just like family, neither."

Jack smiled then, brilliant and happy, all the shadows chased clear from his face. He breathed out, "Yeah?"

Crutchie smiled back, heart hammering in his throat and answered, "Yeah." Crutchie then pulled one hand free from Jack's grip and raised it to touch his friend's face. He slid it along Jack's cheek, smiled at the feel of stubble rasping along his palm, eventually buried his hand in the hair at the nape of Jack's neck and used that new grip to pull himself closer. It was new, this kind of touching, more intimate than any other touches they'd shared before. Jack had stopped moving, eyes wide, a little scared. Crutchie smiled, squeezed Jack's hand once before pulling that hand free, as well, and using it to cup Jack's other cheek. Crutchie leaned in then, and pressed their lips lightly together.

For a long, drawn out moment, Jack didn't respond and Crutchie's heart began to hammer for an entirely different reason. What if... what if he'd been wrong? What if this wasn't what Jack had meant? What if this wasn't what he wanted? Crutchie squeezed lightly at the back of Jack's neck, shifted forwards on the crate to get closer, urged his friend on with the movement of his lips the best he knew how. Still Jack didn't respond. Heart sinking, Crutchie admitted defeat. He released Jack's lips, let his hands start to drop away and readied an apology. He never got a chance to utter it.

As Crutchie started to pull away, Jack seemed to wake up. He made a small noise, hands rising to cup the smaller boy's face and pull him back in. This new kiss was full of desperation, need and enough rising passion to make Crutchie shiver with it. He gave back as good as he was getting, opened his mouth against Jack's to let the other boy in. Jack proved then that he did, in fact, know what he was about when it came to kissing, plunged his tongue inside with another needy moan. Crutchie answered in kind and shifted his grip to Jack's shoulders, used that new leverage to pull himself forwards to straddle Jack's lap. It was awkward, uncomfortable with his twisted leg, but Crutchie didn't care. He needed to be closer and he needed it _now_. He'd already waited too long for this.

Jack moaned again, dropped his hands to Crutchie's waist to pull him closer, still. Crutchie pressed in towards that warmth and, driven purely on instinct as their bodies aligned and unable to help himself, he rocked against Jack.

And that was when it all broke down.

Jack froze, mouth going slack against his, hands closing convulsively on Crutchie's hips. Crutchie braced himself, expecting to be pushed away and kicking himself for being ten kinds of a fool. Jack didn't shove him off his lap, but he did lean back, eyes wide, again, in fear. Crutchie winced, hunched his shoulders and whispered, "Too fast?"

Jack let out a huff of a breath and nodded frantically. Crutchie sighed, gave the other boy a soft smile of understanding and levered himself off of Jack's lap to settle back on his own crate. That separation was painful for more reasons than one, but it was for the best. The last thing Crutchie wanted was to scare Jack off when he'd only recently gotten his head around the idea. Crutchie should say something. He should say something reassuring... he just couldn't think of a single thing that would fit the bill.

Jack finally reached out and took Crutchie's hand in his. The rasp of a callused pad across knuckles was familiar, at least, reassuring in its own way. Crutchie gave Jack's hand a small squeeze in return. Jack's smile was pained, "I... Sorry. I don't... Crutchie, I _want_ to. I just..."

Crutchie squeezed Jack's hand again, "It's OK, Jack. You don't gotta... I get it."

Jack frowned, "But that ain't right. Crutchie... it ain't right. You deserve better than that. You _had_ better than that." He abruptly rose from the crate, buried his hands in his hair and cursed, "I knew this was gonna happen. Crutchie... what if I screwed this up for all of us and then can't..." He blushed and waved a hand in Crutchie's general direction.

Crutchie met Jack's eyes, soft hazel forgiving, almost apologetic, "Jack... it's OK. Really." When Jack just stared incredulously back at him, Crutchie smiled, rose to his feet and limped over to stand next to his friend. He slowly leaned into the warmth of Jack's body until Jack let out a choked laugh and wrapped an arm around him. Crutchie pressed closer, slid an arm around Jack's waist in return, and said quietly, "Jack... when I tell you it's OK, I mean it's OK. You ain't Spot. You ain't me. You ain't had months and years and a boatload of godawful memories to help you get used to the idea. It ain't gonna happen overnight." Crutchie pressed his face into Jack's chest, nuzzled softly into that warmth, "And if it don't happen at all... that's OK, too. This... this is all I ever really wanted. Just you... however I can have you. It's enough. OK?"

Jack crushed the smaller boy to him, buried his face in ginger hair and let out a shaky breath, "Christ. I don't deserve you, you know that? I really damned well don't."

Crutchie laughed, "Well, then I guess we both oughta be glad that it ain't your opinion that counts on that one, right Jack?"

An answering laugh slipped past Jack's lips, "Yeah... yeah, I guess so." Somewhere out in the city, beyond this little circle of warmth and friendship and love and who-only-knew-what... a soft gong started to sound. Jack looked up, smiled softly into the distance, "Well... huh." At Crutchie's querying noise, Jack looked back down and said, simply, "Happy New Year, Brian."

Crutchie's breath caught at that, that simple declaration, just the thought that it was New Year's Eve... no. It was New Year's _Day_ , the first day of a brand new century, and Jack was here with _him_. He wasn't alone. He hadn't been left behind. He was never going to be left behind again. Crutchie bit his lip, ducked his head against Jack's chest in an effort to rein in the emotion of the moment and not embarrass himself. He should have known that Jack wouldn't let it go at that. The taller boy slipped a finger under Crutchie's chin and gently tilted his face upwards. The beaming smile he bestowed on Crutchie was the only warning the smaller boy had before those smirking lips covered his own. This time, the kiss was soft, gentle, almost tentative. And if it was a step backwards, Crutchie didn't care. He was glad enough that Jack had taken a step, at all.

When they parted, Crutchie turned to look out over the city, his back pressed into the warmth of Jack's chest and Jack's arms wrapped securely around him. Suddenly, the snow didn't seem an insurmountable obstacle -- suddenly _nothing_ did. It was soft, gleaming, almost sparkling in the moonlight and it made the city seem fresh and new in a way it hadn't for Crutchie in years. It was a new year, a new _century_ , and the world was full of promise. Maybe there was even room in it for a crip like him to do something good, something meaningful, with his life. For the first time since he was a child, with Jack's firm and loving support at his back, Crutchie actually felt like he might be ready to try.

Jack leaned down, nuzzled his face into the crook of Crutchie's neck and placed a few soft, teasing kisses on the exposed skin there. Crutchie bit his lip, arched his neck to give Jack better access. After a few more teasing touches, Jack stopped, simply leaned his cheek against Crutchie's and said, "That's our world out there, Brian. Ours. And together, you and me is gonna seize the hell out of it."

Crutchie smiled, and simply murmured, "Are."

Jack paused then, eyes narrowed, and said, "Huh?"

Crutchie laughed, just a short puff of frigid air before he answered, "Are. 'You and **I** _are going to_ seize it,' Jack."

Jack gaped at him for a second, eyes disbelieving, before he finally laughed. The tightening of his arms around Crutchie was all the warning the smaller boy had before he was spun, tossed over Jack's shoulder and dragged across the roof to be deposited on the mattress. He yiped when he hit it -- in spite of the protective sheet Jack had draped above it, some snow had still fallen through and the thing was _cold_ \-- but as Jack's warmth settled over him, it suddenly didn't seem to matter. Jack smirked down at him and said, "Oh, I'll give you some _seizing_ , you... you... smartass."

Crutchie slanted a glance from under his bangs, turning that sultry look on Jack for the first time. With an answering smirk that tipped into a leer at the corners, he said, "But I thought you _liked_ my ass smart..."

Jack froze, stared down at Crutchie like he'd just spoken in French or something, and Crutchie just smiled wider. A minute later, when Jack still hadn't responded, Crutchie started to sweat, but waited, rode it out. He was well rewarded. Jack's eyes had glazed and he suddenly gave a convulsive shiver and leaned in to take Crutchie's lips with a dazzling ferocity that Crutchie could all-too-well appreciate. When they broke for air, Jack stared down at him in wonder and Crutchie just smiled knowingly back. This was a side of Crutchie that Jack had never seen. It was a side of Crutchie that even Crutchie hadn't known existed... not until Spot. But Crutchie _liked_ it. He liked being this person, liked the freedom it gave him... the strength. And Jack was apparently no more immune to its charms than Spot.

They spent the rest of the night exploring different kinds of kisses. It was familiar and it was all Jack could do. Crutchie didn't care. It was enough. It was more than he'd ever dared hope for. And in the silent dark of a barely there slip of moonlight, as though even the moon was holding its breath on the new century, Crutchie dared let another side of himself free to hope... to dream... to wish. And so, it was Brian who looked over Jack's shoulder as he slept, eyes fixed on that tiny slip of a moon... and smiled. Today was a new century and Jack was right. It was _theirs_... and tomorrow they were going to seize the hell out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Crutchie: *gapes* No. Oh, no. You are _not_ leaving it there. You **can't**. O_O
> 
> R-chan: *smirks* Of course, I can. I'm the fic author. I can do whatever I want to.
> 
> Crutchie: *whimpers* But… but… I'm not OK with that!
> 
> R-chan: *points upwards at the fic* But you said you were.
> 
> Crutchie: *splutters* I never did! *accusingly* You put those words in my mouth!
> 
> R-chan: *eg* Like I said… I'm the fic author. I can do whatever I want to.
> 
> Crutchie: *gapes* I… I think I see what those other people were saying, now…
> 
> R-chan: *slow predatory grin*
> 
> Spot: *smacks the chibi on the back of the head* Knock it off.
> 
> R-chan: D: That wasn't nice!
> 
> Spot: *smirks* *mockingly* I'm one of the oldest chibis around here. I can do whatever the hell I want to.
> 
> R-chan: *pouts* Not nice.
> 
> Spot: *rae* Your point?
> 
> R-chan: *stares at Spot*
> 
> Spot: *stares at R-chan*
> 
> Both: *slow smirk*
> 
> R-chan: *chuckles* OK, OK. You're right. You win. I'll try.
> 
> Claude: *stares wonderingly at Spot* Wow. Some of you guys are downright scary.
> 
> Spot: *shrugs* It helps when you get yourself established when they're still kids. Remember that next time.
> 
> Claude: @_@ Next time?
> 
> R-chan: ^_____________^
> 
>  _Questions, comments, gingerbread cookies?_


End file.
